After a good night's rest in the hostel we hid our faces in the shadows to stay undercover, not because of the sun at all. In only two days we descended from 4200 to 900 meters, and temperatures rose from 3 to 30 degrees. Yaks got replaced by the fattest cows we've seen in a long while, so we decided we'd have a taste.
We found a restaurant with a lush garden, gazebos with small tables for a tailor-sit dinner and a tiny creek with an iron waterwheel running gently beneath the constructions. Yuri, aspiring to be a real cowboy, ordered a cowboy steak. To order his side he sang: "yippie ya hoe, yippie ya hey, a true cowboy loves his tatermash puree." All of a sudden an accordeon musician started playing to make the picture perfectly framable while we closed our eyes for a bit to ignore our stomach growls. Our waiter was having a severe case of memory loss though, so we spent the better part of the day waiting for our plates in the luxurious outdoor pillow-castle, cursing at ourselves internally for not bringing our literature.
Our brains were working on overdrive powered by all this food, and we made a decision we should have made before the Pamir highway. Having finally arrived at a country that allows shipping shit home without being looted, we decided it was time to do some long awaited liposuction on our bags. After 9 months and 13000 kilometers of hauling these fatties around it time to shed the weight. “What do we need anyway? Socks? Nah, we barely even wear shoes anymore.. Sweater? Only if you want to sweat your nuts off. Tent? When is the last time we used that thing?” After even taking off our kickstands, bells and other trinkets each of our bikes lost about 20 kilo's, leaving us with 12 per bike.
Travel light, to move swiftly like a hawk. This bird's bones are hollow for minimal weight. Always try to be like a bird. The next day we found the DHL office closed, so we decided to give our legs one more day off, and spend our day writing and reading. A complete list was composed with all kinds of food we have to taste when back in Belgium, and in this flare of nostalgia Stef decided to cook a good ol' Belgian meal. Ingredients: one whole roasted chicken, one kilo of baked potato's, and more than 1,5 kilo of apple sauce, self boiled in strawberry tea. About ten minuts later we tonguepolished off our plates (yes, we actually used forks and plates!), ready for a bellying-out hammocksession of several hours. Weekend well spent indeed.