The Road to Khasavyurt

We woke up early at 7:00 a.m. and were ready to leave by 8:30. Before leaving the city, we picked up Andrei, and the four of us set off under a pale morning sky. The air was crisp and cool, and for the first couple of hours, we rode through open steppe and quiet villages still half asleep.

After the first 100 km, we stopped briefly to stretch and warm up. Around 220 km, we took another break — a refuel and a hot coffee to shake off the chill. Although it didn’t rain today, the cold still clung to the early hours. Aita lent me his gloves, since mine were still damp from the previous days. His pair was shorter than mine, so the wind slipped through the sleeves of my jacket. Small discomforts like that are part of the road — the kind that make you smile later when you remember them.

We stopped again at 350 km for a quick meal before pushing through the last 150 km toward Khasavyurt. By the time we reached the city, the daylight was fading into gold. At one roundabout, we made a risky stop so that ‘Mama’ could join us and lead the way for the final few kilometers. It was chaotic but somehow perfectly fitting for the day.

Security Checks Along the Road

Along the route toward Khasavyurt, it’s common to encounter frequent police or military checkpoints. This part of Dagestan has a long history of maintaining a heightened security presence — not necessarily because something is happening at that moment, but because the region has dealt with sporadic extremist activity and instability in past decades. As a result, authorities keep tight control over the main roads, especially those connecting larger towns.

Most checks are routine: officers verify documents, ask where you’re coming from, and sometimes inspect luggage, particularly if you’re traveling by motorcycle. It can feel a bit tense the first few times, but for locals it’s simply part of everyday life. However, Aita asked me to stay close to them to avoid being stopped. Sometimes these routine checks can be tedious and long.

We arrived at Ruslan’s house around 5:00 p.m., where another friend was already waiting for us. Dinner was served not long after — home-cooked food, warm tea, and laughter filling the room. As the night deepened, one by one people drifted off to bed. I left around 10:00 p.m., leaving Aita, Ruslan, and Mama still at the table, talking softly over their glasses.

A Quiet Day in Khasavyurt

The next morning began unhurried. I had breakfast with Aita and Ruslan while the rest of the house was still asleep — ‘Mama’ woke up a bit later, and Andrei rarely appeared before the afternoon. The air in Khasavyurt felt softer that day, touched by the scent of wet grass and distant wood smoke.

Habibi joined us for lunch, and in the afternoon, we decided to take the boat out. We carried it to the nearby lake — an artificial one that didn’t even exist a few years ago. When Ruslan first moved here, the land was completely flat and dry. Little by little, he began routing pipes to divert part of the flow from the eastern Yaryksu River, digging out the basin. Over time, the water accumulated, and what started as a simple idea eventually became a small lake of his own making — a quiet spot he now shares with friends.

We set the boat afloat and began a short ride across the water, each pull of the oars sending smooth ripples across the surface. The only sounds were the soft splash of the paddles and the distant cries of birds echoing over the lake. Without an engine, everything felt quieter, slower, more deliberate — a peaceful, almost meditative pause after days of constant movement.

As evening approached, three more motorcycles rolled into the yard — Rafael, Ali, and Abdurahman, riding in from Makhachkala. Their arrival brought the familiar hum of engines and laughter back to the house. We had dinner all together, trading stories from the road until it was time for them to head home again around 8:00 p.m.

That night, silence settled quickly over the house. One by one, we all fell asleep, the last sounds fading into the gentle rustle of the Dagestani night.