The owner of our guesthouse in Khorog, Tajikistan, was clear.

“They are Tajiks, we are Pamiri. We are not the same people. Our language is different, our culture is different, our religion is different. We are both Muslim but they are Sunni, we are Shi’a. We are more peaceful and relaxed.”

A few days later, still in the Pamir mountains but closer to Dushanbe, we started chatting with the police officer at a checkpoint. He told us he was Tajik.

“Are you from the Pamirs,” I asked.

“No, I am Tajik,” he answered.

Both the policeman and the guesthouse owner were among the very few people we met who could speak English.

The guesthouse owner learned the language because she felt she needed to for the sake of her business.

“When my children left, I had to learn. I have three children − two sons and my daughter. My daughter is here but one of my sons is in China, the other in Canada. I am glad that I could give all three a good education and that my boys are somewhere safe, not here.”

A civil war in the early 1990s left many Pamiris massacred, others in prison.

Although officially part of Tajikistan, after 1993, Gorno-Badakhshan, the main area occupied by Pamiri people, became a de facto self-ruled breakaway region. Since March 28 this year, Maltese nationals no longer need a visa for visits to Tajikistan lasting up to 30 days.

However, all nationalities need a special permit to visit the Pamir region. This permit, known as the GBAO (Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Oblast), is obtainable either from Osh, in Kyrgyzstan or from Dushanbe, in Tajikistan.

My friend and I had been planning to visit the Pamir mountains as part of our travels in Central Asia.

We are travelling on a motorbike and the route is a difficult one.

The roads that are considered ‘good’ are already bad enough, just imagine what the bad ‘roads’ are like.

And, because we must have a masochistic streak in us, we decided to tour the Pamirs through the road less travelled − the harder one.

The ‘roads’, if they can be called that, range from muddy tracks to pebbly ones, to areas of fine sand not exactly ideal for motorbikes, with occasional streams also having to be crossed.

During one particular day of really bad roads, we spent 10 hours on the road just to cover 90 kilometres. Tough 10-hour days were normal but, usually, we covered a bit more distance than that.

That is, except for when we came across a closure because of roadworks. We arrived at 1.30pm where the road closed and were told it would only reopen at 6pm.

‘Welcome to our country’

We entered Tajikistan from the Pamirs, so the first Tajik people we met were actually Pamiri.

I was pleasantly surprised by the welcome given by the soldier at the border as we were entering the country from Kyrgyzstan… “Welcome to our country,” he said, a big smile on his face. And that border crossing was the smoothest ever. Not one bag was opened or checked. It was a very nice welcome indeed.

As we rode slowly along, we were rewarded for our pains and efforts by breathtaking scenery

As we continued along our route, the people remained among the most friendly and welcoming… not that we met a lot of them except in villages.

Most of the people we met en route were travellers like us, some on motorbikes, others more crazy than us on bicycles. There were also some with campervans.

They would be coming from the opposite direction and sometimes we would stop and chat, at other times, when time was more pressing, we would just acknowledge each other’s presence with a wave and head on.

Sometimes, we would ride for long kilometres without meeting a soul. At other times, children would pop out of nowhere and shout ‘hello’ and wave.

The more daring ones would also come to the middle of the road, their hand out to high-five it with ours.

As we rode slowly along, first along the Chinese border and later along the Afghan one, we were rewarded for our pains and efforts by breathtaking scenery.

It is impossible not to smile when looking at the majestic mountains, sometimes brown, sometimes green, many peaks white with snow, rivers and lakes, meadows, gorges and canyons. Unlike at home, there’s not a tower crane in sight.

The villages are small and simple. Water comes in buckets from a pump in the centre of the village, the houses are low and bare, and our accommodation was mainly in ‘homestays’.

Villagers open their homes to travellers for some money, usually for about €20 per person per night, sometimes negotiable, including dinner and breakfast.

‘Beds’ are in Pamiri style, a thin mattress on the floor and some blankets for covering, pit-style toilets and showers, when available, bucket ones. It was not the first time we had to forego our shower. But we survived.

In spite of the meagre belongings, the people are proud of their distinct heritage.

“Life in the Pamirs is tough and that is why many people leave. We have no grass for animals to graze and land cannot be used repeatedly for agriculture.

In Dushanbe and other parts of Tajikistan they have it much better but women lack respect. It is still common for a man to have two to three wives. A woman still has no place in society,” the guesthouse owner explained.

“Not here in the Pamirs, here women are respected. And well-educated. We believe in equality,” she added.

Her daughter who still lives in the Pamirs may very well be proof of that… she has two diplomas and a degree and is soon off to Switzerland, where she will be reading for a master’s degree in public health.

Follow Rosanne’s travels on Instagram account @roszam