One lone yurt sits at the base of a 7-year old avalanche of glacial ice. Yakub and his wife weather the elements, the bears, and the wolves and watch over their village's cattle for the summer months. Not many reach this remote place and when we showed up bearing rice, carrots, and onions, they lit up, beaming with excitement at the prospect of something more diverse than bread and the endless supply of dairy products they consume. "If only all guests were like this" they said, laughing. My hats off to them ... or, as they say in Tajik, my hands up. Ofarin!
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