Two weeks in the Northern Areas

I’m finally back somewhere where there is an internet connection, back in Gilgit. I have been traveling up the Karakorem Highway and exploring and trekking in the side valleys and mountains for the past two and half weeks. It was been an amazing and adventurous experience. Even though much of Pakistan is fraught with danger and chaos at the moment, up north, where I am is filled with peace and happiness. Though all the locals, especially those in the tourist business would like to see many more tourists. It seems all the trouble, or the “Taliban situation” as many people call it in the surrounding regions has scared away about 90% of their international business.
But I can’t say enough about the place, from down in the Hunza region, to up in the Chaperson and Shimshal valleys. All the people have been so welcoming and friendly. The scenery is amazing, every vista seems like it could be in a post card. There always seems to be a rich green valley full of crops and poplar trees, then higher up a vast and arid brown, yellow, black or red mountain. Above that, at every turn is some snow covered peak I’ve never heard of, or jagged peaks dusted with a fresh layer of snow. And in between the mountains, when it’s not a river or a lush valley, it will be a mammoth glacier descending from the heavens of the high peaks. Some look like frozen waves, while others are covered in grey or black scree and rock.
I have been doing a lot of hiking and trekking, but the trails and terrain are unlike anything I have ever set foot on. Sometimes there are trails going in every direction, with cairns to mark the way, or wrong way. While other times the trail will disappear into a field of crops or be washed away by an avalanche or landslide. Leaving me searching and climbing through cacti and pricky bushes, and over and around boulders, or scrambling up loose, dangerous scree. This happened on every single walk I did. I was constantly lost, or searching for the trail. The trails weren’t like your national parks at home, or even Nepal for that matter. All the trails are primarily trails for goats, yaks, cows and Shepard’s. Not for tourists to get nice views. So they are strewn with loose rock and scree. It seemed I couldn’t walk more than a few minutes, or steps sometimes without stumbling, tripping, falling, sliding or landing on my rear end. I never had any big falls, but I was constantly aware of injuring myself, which was a little scary, since I was always alone, and the nearest help was usually some Shepard a few miles away. My shoes took a beating too. I thought I had a couple months of wear in them, but after trekking in Pakistan for a week they are a wreck, with seems breaking and the soles peeling off. I’ll hold onto them though, since they are still better than 90 of the shoes that the locals wear. Which is funny to me, because a lot of times they wear old soccer, baseball or track shoes as their normal footwear, or to work in the field. All of these shoes have been donated from the US or other western countries. Along with the rest of their clothing, except their shalwar kameez’s.
I had a great time in all the places I went, but the clear highlight was visiting the Chaperson Valley. On the road to China, it’s the last valley to the west. The visit got off to an interesting start. When I showed up to Sost, the truck stop town on the KKH where passengers catch a jeep to get to the valley, there were already about 20 people waiting for a ride in the old red cargo Jeep. So Hafeez, a local kid from the valley suggest we walk to his village and spend the night, and then I could walk on to where I was going at the end of the valley tomorrow. He said it would take 6 hours to get to his home. So we set off at 3PM as the wind howled out of the north, pushing a rain squall in our direction. We were making good time through the brown, eroded valley and it was very pretty but my bag was heavy, at least 20kg, as it was filled with food for trekking, and not prepared for a 30km journey. As we continued walking, a van pulled along side us. I asked Hafeez how much longer to his house. He said 2 hours. I said, “In real time, or in Chaperson time?” He answered, “In real time.” So we continued walking. But a few minutes later, his father showed up on a motorcycle and asked us why we were walking. Hafeez said because the jeep was full, and it was only 2 hours more. But his father told the real time, and said it was at least 3.5 hours, which would get us to his village at 9:30 pm. So Hafeez and I hopped on the back of his fathers little Honda bike, with Hafeez in the middle and me and my heavy pack in the back. This turned out to be the most uncomfortable painful 30 minutes of my life. I was holding on for dear life. And there was a rack at the back of the bike digging into my back at every bounce along the rough dirt road. Finally I had to pound on Hafeez’s back and command his father to stop the bike, I would be walking the final few K’s. I asked them how long to Kirmin, their village. They both said, 30 minutes. These 30 minutes was actually 90 minutes and Hafeez and I finally arrived at 9:30 at his home. And that included the 10k we traveled on the back. If we hadn’t received the ride we would have arrived at around midnight. But their hospitality was great, the tea was sweet and delicious and they gave me a place to sleep for the night before I set off to Zood Khun, the last village in the valley the next morning. I did give Hafeez a pretty hard time about his time estimates though. But I realized he had no watch and in their culture time isn’t kept with a watch. Everything takes time; to walk, to grow crops, to make food. It’s not an exact schedule or planned system they have they just go by feel. But I did say I’m American and I like to know a little more precisely.
The 16K’s to Zood Khun were uneventful. I just shook a lot of hands and said I was walking to Zood Khun, everyone was very friendly. The kids were shy, but the women would look at you and say hello, which is more than in some other places of Pakistan.

Zood Khun looks a lot like other villages of the Chaperson Valley. With green fields of wheat and potatoes surrounding small home traditionally made of stones, mud and wood. But there is one man there who sets it apart. His name is Alum Jan; he runs a small guest house in the village and is a little bit of a black sheep compared to the rest of the farmers. He has a pony tail and usually sports a turban. He seems like the tallest man in town and the only one who looks younger than his actual age. He plays music, writes poetry and lets tourist stay in his home and eat food with his family. He’ll also guide you anywhere in the Pamir’s and Hindu Kush mountains. But he’s unlike other guides who seem to beg you to take them along with you. He has traveled on horseback through the Pamir’s of Pakistan and Afghanistan and down into the Hindukush. He said it took 40 days and covered about 1500km. When you stay with him, you’re not separated like a hotel; you sleep on the ground like the local Tajik people. You eat on the ground; no table’s and chairs here, just a sheet of plastic on the ground in the center of the house. So it’s the real experience. I spent my first couple days in the village just cruising around with my camera, chatting with the locals, who surprisingly speak very good English, as well as their local Wakhi language. I also helped move around some stones with the rest of the men in the village to help build a home. I took in the popular local sport of polo, which I had never seen before. Watching a game of polo is like watching ice hockey, but without the plexi glass, and you have to sit on the boards surrounding the ice. Meaning the ball or horse could come colliding into the sidelines at any moment, keeping all the villagers and spectators on their toes. It was also tea overdose; I must have drunk 10-15 cups of tea everyday and Alum Jan about twice that. All the tea was included on the price of the stay, which averaged out to less than 5 bucks a day. And there were no shops in town to spend any money at.
Besides the amazing experience with in the village, I set off to do some trekking. I did a little 4 day excursion up into the Pamir’s. The plan was to get up to the Pakistan/Afghan border and look down into the Wakhan corridor that separates Pakistan from Tajikistan. But I never made it there. Partly because I went up the wrong valley, I took the hunters route to the pass. And because this area received massive amounts of snow and by the time I reached 4700 meters I was waist deep in snow. But if I had found the correct path I think I could have made it to the top of the pass at 4950 meters. It wasn’t like I didn’t see anything though. It seemed like I was surrounded by snowy peaks I didn’t even know existed before I set my eyes on them.

This place leaves you always saying, “When I come back here next time...” there is just so much to see, so many treks, passes and villagers to encounter. I could easily spend the rest of summer here, biking, trekking, horseback riding, relaxing, drinking tea and enjoying the local culture.