PAKISTAN
1 312 Km – 70 Days
1 July – 8 September 2008
1
July – Zahedan, Iran - Pakistan border.
Upon
leaving for Pakistan, my hosts advised against cycling due to “dangerous
activities”. By the time the panniers were loaded, a taxi had already been arranged
and paid. Tired of arguing, I gave up, got in the cab, and headed through a
moon-scape backdrop to the border.
I
had no regrets about leaving Iran. Even though the people were accommodating
and friendly, the country had an extremely restrictive vibe. Maybe my dislike
of the country was due to my anti-authoritarian attitude.
Reaching
the Iran-Pakistan border, I’d an immense desire to throw them a boob flash! Not
only was Iran far too conservative, but their treatment of women didn’t appeal
to me. “I want to cover myself from head to toe in black,” no woman has ever
said unless brainwashed from a young age.
Once
across the border at Taftan, one immediately felt Pakistan was a friendlier
country (maybe it reminded me of Africa). Helpful border officials lent a hand
with the bike. Great curiosity prevailed around where I came from and what on
earth a woman was doing on a bicycle in such an inhospitable and, sometimes,
dangerous part of the world. First taken aback by the barrage of questions, I
soon warmed to the Pakistanis’ friendly nature.
Once
across the border, the news that biking wasn’t allowed between the border and
Quetta (the next town), came as an unwelcome surprise as I was keen to get on
the bike. The area was deemed unsafe, and the strong military presence and
mumblings of “Taliban, Taliban” put the fear of God into me. So serious were
the Pakistanis regarding the restriction, looking around, my bicycle was
already on the bus’s roof.
The
road to Quetta stretched six hundred and twenty kilometres through the
mountains of Baluchistan, a trip that took between 20 and 24 hours by bus. The
area was indeed a desert, featuring barren mountains and temperatures soaring
into the fifties. Our elaborately decorated bus was overcrowded, and more
people were sitting on the bus's roof than inside. Sitting on top couldn’t have
been a comfortable ride as the route was rough and bumpy and the mercury most
likely hovered in the forties.
As
a woman in that part of the world, you got the best seat in front of the bus
and could go straight to the front of lengthy queues; still, I felt extremely out
of place, and the blatant stares didn’t help.
2
July - Quetta
We
arrived in Quetta, the capital of the province of Baluchistan, in the early
hours of the following morning. Weather-wise, a perfect time to be outside and nearly
the only time one could be out in such a hot and arid region.
A
short cycle ride led to the city to find accommodation, refresh and do the
usual things one needs in a new country, including drawing Pakistani currency,
and obtaining a SIM card.
In
Quetta, these two simple tasks weren’t uncomplicated. Not merely was Pakistan a
seldom-visited country, but Quetta and Baluchistan were well off most people’s
travel lists. Pakistan wasn’t easy to visit, and the lack of tourists made Quetta
feel like the real deal.
Camel-drawn
carts, congested alleys, milk tea, chapattis and rickshaws surrounded by a
mountain desert landscape helped give the area an authentic feel. But unfortunately,
it also made me stick out like a sore thumb. When the ever-friendly Pakistanis
heard I was South African, they immediately launched into a passionate
discussion about cricket. Of course, one couldn’t blame them for indulging in
this sport, as political instability plagued the country and cricket was their sole
means of escape.
People
were genuinely hospitable and eager to help. The country might have been hot,
dusty, windy and dangerous, but a friendly vibe cloaked the entire region. Add to
that excellent street food and dramatic scenery, falling in love with Pakistan
right from the word go came as no surprise. I invested in a shalwar kameez which
consisted of big baggy pants and a long, long-sleeve shirt. Both men and women wear
the shalwar kameez, but the styles differ by gender.
As
the day progressed, rumours revealed a problem with cycling to Islamabad. The
owner of my establishment mentioned one needed a police escort for practically the
entire 1000 kilometres. If the police wanted to escort me, I couldn’t care as I
considered sitting in a vehicle at 15km/h at 40°C far more inconvenient than biking.
A
more significant problem was the sleeping arrangements. Camping or sleeping at
roadside accommodation would prove difficult as women weren’t allowed at many
of these establishments. Following a chat with the police, it became clear biking
to Islamabad wasn’t going to happen. I’d no intention of making my life miserable,
changing people’s way of thinking, or being chased on by people bored in a car.
The
next best option was taking the train to Islamabad; a trip said to be a scenic
one. But, in hindsight, I should’ve cycled, and to this day, I’m sorry I didn’t
stand my ground.
3
July - Quetta – Islamabad (by train)
Hordes
of passengers and luggage in all shapes and sizes crowded the station's
platform and the bicycle, hence, was no problem. With the ticket purchased as a
last-minute decision, all sleeping compartments were full, and only seats remained.
There was nothing one could do but settle in upon a rock-hard seat.
Scheduled
to leave at 14h30, we eventually got underway at around 16h00. The train was a
pleasant surprise as the coaches were air-conditioned (thank goodness). Still, the
seat was rock hard and highly upright, making sleeping quite impossible. Also,
the noticeable military presence didn’t instil much confidence, and I’d a distinct
feeling I was guarded, as a soldier came to sit opposite me and never left. I subsequently
learned the train in front had been robbed, which could’ve been the reason.
The
route to Islamabad ran over the well-known Bolan Pass, a desolated mountain
area frequently used by lawless invaders. The pass was steep, and the train was
pulled by two engines and pushed by one at the rear. Consequently, the going
was slow as the train stopped at all stations where interesting snacks were
peddled from window to window. Eventually, I asked the conductor to be upgraded
to a sleeping compartment when one became available. After handing over a few
Pakistani rupee, I was led to an empty bunk where one could at least lie down.
4
July - Islamabad
The
entire day was spent on the train. There wasn’t much more to do but stare out
the window while being observed at close range. Passengers came to look at me
and I believed a burka was not such a terrible idea, after all. Reaching the
province of Punjab, the countryside became a great deal greener. One could see not
simply wheat but also rice and cotton fields and even the odd water buffalo.
We
arrived at our destination around 22h00 which turned out to be Rawalpindi
station, 20 kilometres south of Islamabad. Once the bicycle and panniers were
collected, searching for a place to sleep was unsuccessful as hotels catered primarily
to Pakistanis, not foreigners. Hotel upon hotel, all had the same excuse. I subsequently
discovered the reason might not have been being a foreigner, but a woman.
Being
late and tired, I ditched the hotel idea. Instead, I took a taxi ride to an
international hotel in Islamabad. The place was a dump, but already midnight, a
bed was a bed.
5
July – Islamabad
The
windowless room made sleeping considerably later than usual, and it was late
before I eventually surfaced. Furthermore, the lack of windows made the room
hot and stuffy. I wasn’t the solitary occupant but shared the room with many
creepy crawlies. Upon emerging, I found the weather not merely rainy, but hot and
humid.
Being
a planned city, built in 1960 as the new capital, Islamabad was spacious and
sported lots of greenery. Exploring, a trekking agent arranging treks to K2
base camp got me all excited. I’ve been fascinated by K2 (more so than Everest)
for as long as I can remember and have read almost every book ever written regarding
climbing K2. So, more than over the moon, I signed up for this iconic trek. Albeit
expensive, I was determined to go. The high price tag was due to K2’s location in
a National Park. Access to the park and K2 were strictly monitored and could
only be accessed with a guide. The price included transport to the start, a
guide, a cook and porters to carry the whole shebang, including personal
belongings.
6
July - Islamabad
Excited, I arrived at
their office a day early, assuming this was our departure day. Hahaha! It was not
a disaster as I enjoyed exploring the markets and the street food, which
consisted of all my favourites, i.e., samosas, chilly bites, potato fritters,
nuts and fruit. The rest of the day was spent packing bits and pieces needed during
the walk like warm clothes, a sleeping bag, and a sleeping mat. I considered
buying a pair of hiking boots, but nearly all the shops were closed on Sundays.
Midday,
a suicide bomber walked into the crowded Melody Market and killed 15 people and
injured many. The scary part was I was there barely thirty minutes earlier. Still,
life went along as usual in the rest of the city - vendors sold their wares,
the muezzin called people to prayer, and kids played cricket in the alleyways.
In
fact, one seldom came across a child without a cricket bat in hand. You never
would’ve guessed watching TV that hockey and squash were also national sports.
7
July - Islamabad – Besham
I
woke keen and eager, and was up at the crack of dawn, raring to go. Still, the
time was past midday before finally departing Islamabad. As tradition had it, all
trekkers and climbers first paid a visit to the Minister of Tourism to obtain a
trekking permit, the Alpine Club for a briefing, and Rawalpindi to pick up more
supplies; a ritual unchanged for decades. I felt honoured and excited to be
part of it, even just for the short trek to base camp.
The
route north was extremely busy, jam-packed with colourful trucks and busses, and
the landscape lush with green hills—what a difference from the province of Baluchistan.
We passed numerous small communities and villagers in traditional dress. Shops
displayed wares along the pavement, including tyres, plastic chairs, apricots
and clothing. The Jeep soon reached the Karakoram Highway (KKH), which hugged
the Indus River banks. The road was narrow, winding and washed away in places.
As expected, the going was slow and thus long beyond sunset before arriving at our
overnight spot at Besham.
8
July - Besham – Skardu
The
following day, we were on our way by 05h00 as the drive to Skardu was long and
slow. Soon, the scenery changed from the lush green hills of the previous day
to a stark and barren landscape.
The
driver made a quick photo stop at the viewpoint where the Himalayas, the
Karakoram and the Hindukush mountains meet. Shortly past Jaglot, the road veered
off the KKH onto an even narrower one. With high cliffs along one side and
exposed drops down to the river, encountering other vehicles was quite a
performance. The slow pace made reaching busy and dusty Skardu after dark.
I
could barely contain my excitement being in Skardu, a place I’ve read about in
numerous books and which had a ring of adventure to it by then. Skardu was a bustling
place and sported a host of trekking/mountaineering shops, from grocery stores
to second-hand trekking equipment, just what a person would expect of the last
town at the start of such a significant climb. The night was spent at the
well-known K2 Motel, famous amongst trekkers and mountaineers. The motel must’ve
been one of the original ones as the rooms were huge and the shower rooms large.
A lush garden outside overlooked the Indus River. I found staying in the same
place as many of the world’s most successful mountaineers a humbling experience.
9
July - Skardu – Askole - 3000m asl
I
further discovered I was the sole guest. It felt strange and somewhat
uncomfortable to have a crew consisting of Ali, the guide, Munwar, the cook,
and ten porters. Imagine that! Before departing, more supplies were picked up.
I wandered off to one of the second-hand stores to find a pair of hiking boots
that I located at a fraction of the original price. We didn’t get going until well
beyond midday, and an additional six hours by Jeep took us to Askole.
Askole
was the last village reachable by road, and from there the whole shebang got carried,
explaining the need for ten porters. Shortly before Askole, a landslide made us
abandon the Jeep and carry our luggage across the rubble to where a new vehicle
was waiting. The final stretch to Askole was a slow, bone-jarring drive up near
vertical mountains, including hairpin bends and cliffs down to the river (not a
ride for the faint of heart). Askole camp was set up (my tent and a large
cooking tent) while Ali, the guide, organised porters.
10
July - Askole – Jhola Camp - 3200m asl
The
weather was beautiful, warm and quite hot at times as I set off, grinning from
ear to ear, in the company of my entourage. I couldn’t
stop laughing at how bizarre this must’ve looked. I could easily have been
mistaken for the Queen of Sheba! The first day’s walk was short but rocky along
the Braldu River, and the trail sometimes narrow and quite precarious. Crossing
one of the side rivers, alongside donkeys hauling supplies up the mountain via
a swaying suspension bridge, I thought this indicated what was to come. Not far
from there, our overnight campsite came into sight and was equipped with toilets
and washing facilities; the camp was considered a luxury one. However, the
water was from the river and thus straight from the glacier and freezing. My
wash was a super quick one!
Munwar
(the cook) cooked chapattis, rice and chickpeas. The air was dry, and although
my skin became dry and shrivelled up, I was happy to walk in those mountains. By
evening, I crawled into the sleeping bag, giggling uncontrollably about the
sight of me and my entourage and the pleasure of being there.
11
July - Jhola Camp – Paiya - 3600m asl
The
day started with a relatively pleasant walk along the river with our first glimpses
of high peaks ahead. Close to camp, one could see Baltoro glacier and the peaks
of Cathedral Towers in the distance. The trail was extremely stony, and it felt
good to take one’s boots off by the end of the day. Surprisingly, the new boots
were comfortable and came without chafing or blisters.
The
porters were exceptionally superstitious and performed their usual rituals and
prayers even during a short trek to base camp. We’d hardly started our hike,
but this was where they traditionally took a rest day and where a goat was slaughtered.
Dancing continued until late in the evening.
12
July - Paiya
Paiya
was where we met Mark and Alex from the UK, also
trekking to base camp. They were a charming and easy-going couple. I was glad to
have company as trekking on one’s own could become monotonous. The day was
spent at leisure, a good thing, as all seemed to suffer from upset stomachs. We
walked together from that point onwards, and only one cooking tent was pitched
in the evenings.
13
July - Paiyu – Khuburtze - 4000m asl
The
following morning was an early start to prepare for the six-hour climb up the
Baltoro Glacier, stretching sixty-two kilometres up the valley. It didn’t feel
like walking along a glacier as rocks and stones covered the area. Now and
again, one could see deep crevices, making the danger real. However, the ice
made walking slippery, and I was happy with my walking sticks. For the most
part, the path was a steady climb up the valley and onto our camp, which
resembled a real mountain camp with a few tents scattered amongst the rocks. Chickens
and goats brought up by porters were running about but were steadily becoming
less.
Sitting
in the sun, drinking many cups of green tea, and looking out over Paiyu Peak (6600
metres) and the Tango Towers (6239 metres) filled me with gratitude and awe. I
couldn’t believe I was there.
14
July - Khuburtze – Urdukas - 4200m asl
Our
next stop was Urdukas camp, reached by walking along the lateral moraine. Our
walking pace had by then slowed considerably, and the daily distances became significantly
shorter. Nevertheless, the views remained spectacular and close to camp were
reminders of climbers and porters who had died on K2.
Soon
after arriving at camp, it started raining and the rest of the day was spent sleeping
and nibbling on nuts and dried fruit swallowed down by numerous cups of tea. At
the camp were two climbers from Greenland who attempted to summit K2 but
returned due to rockfalls and avalanches. Soon, the temperature plummeted and
it became too cold outside, and all retreated to their tents.
15
July - Urdukas – Goro - 4500m asl
We
emerged to a lovely clear morning, which became a wonderful walk along the
Baltoro glacier. The terrain remained rocky and slippery in places. Mark, Alex and
I negotiated our way over the glacier, taking great care. One could see
Gasherbrum 4 in the distance while trying to avoid the scary crevasses. By then,
all were starting to feel the altitude, and we became entirely out of breath
walking uphill. The day’s walk was a slipping and sliding affair until
finishing the walk at Coro 2 camp, slap bang in the middle of the glacier.
Coro
2 was a spectacular campsite surrounded by all the high peaks - a marvellous sight.
Supper was early as the weather became downright icy as soon as the sun set.
The food was delicious and consisted of soup, rice and at least two other
dishes, not to mention dessert.
16
July - Goro 2 – Concordia - 4700m asl
The
next day was a relaxed (albeit slow) walk featuring spectacular vistas of Muztagh
Tower, Gasherbrum 4 and, finally, K2. Even if exhausted, I believe I wore a permanent
smile and couldn’t believe I was actually there.
The
day was bright and sunny and K2 (the second-highest peak on Earth after
Everest) was cloudless and rose 3,600m straight up from the Godwin Austin Glacier.
A sight that gave me goosebumps that weren’t due to the cold.
The
camp was set up upon the glacier, and one could hear the constant cracking of
the ice lying in your tent. Due to the cold, I’d been sleeping and walking in
the same clothes for days. Luckily, everybody else did the same.
17
July – Concordia – 5300 asl
Following
breakfast, a walk in the company of Ali, the guide, led to Gasherbrum base camp
and Gondogoro La over steep, slippery ice. The walk was a slow and exhausting affair.
On our return to Concordia, I felt nauseous, most likely due to the altitude.
Once again, the temperature plummeted as soon as the sun set, and one could do
little else but curl up in your sleeping bag.
18
July - Concordia
A
day of rest was spent at Concordia. No one had the energy to walk around. The
day was primarily spent resting and indulging in the scenery, not a panorama I
thought I would ever see again. Concordia was where five glaciers converged and
a popular camping place for trekking expeditions. The majority of us were
suffering from upset stomachs (a common problem at Concordia). The rest day, thus,
was a welcomed one.
19
July - Concordia – Urdukas
The
time came to retrace our steps, and a long day’s trekking lay ahead as our
group departed Concordia for the return leg of our journey. None were sorry to
get out of, what was known as, the “shit-zone”. Disposal of sewage was a considerable
problem due to the frozen, rocky terrain.
The
day was overcast, and one could scarcely see the surrounding peaks enjoyed during
the walk up. Arrival at Urdukas camp was around 17h00. Urdukas had a superb
location along the mountain's side, overlooking high peaks. We sat watching
trekkers and climbers en route up the mountain.
20
July - Urdukas – Paiyu
It
had become the norm to be awakened with a cup of coffee. Soon afterwards,
breakfast consisting of chapattis, cereal and tea were served. The porters
quickly loaded the tents during breakfast and started on their way. The walk was
a relatively long one but, fortunately, largely downhill.
Reaching
the glacier's end, it started raining, and by the time we reached camp, all
were soaked to the bone. My bag was a quick and inexpensive purchase in
Islamabad and consequently not waterproof, resulting in practically all my
stuff being damp, including the sleeping bag. Arghh!
21
July - Paiyu – Jhola Camp
The
day dawned overcast but dry, and our group set out en route to Jhola camp. Our
path was narrow and stony, resulting in single-file walking, but still, we
chatted away and soon reached Jhola camp. Quite a few people were camping at
Jhola, mostly climbers with high hopes of summiting K2.
Among
them were porters trekking up the mountain with a dzos (half-cow, half-yak).
The dzos were slaughtered at base camp to provide meat to climbers and porters
on their summit returns. At least the evening was dry, and we could hang out
our wet clothes.
22
July - Jhola – Askole
Coffee
was, as each morning, brought to my tent at around 07h00, by which time it was
light for a while already. Following breakfast, we resumed our walk, feeling
sad as our last day of trekking had arrived. Our walk was an effortless six-hour
walk beside the river and across the snout of the Biafro Glacier until, at
last, we saw the green fields surrounding Askole.
The
day was partly cloudy, and it had started raining by the time we reached the
campsite. All dived into their tents and stayed there until supper was ready. A
fun group of Russians arrived en route to climb the Ogre, and the evening
became a social one.
23
July - Askole – Shigar
From
Askole another bone-jarring Jeep ride, along an extremely narrow mountain road
with hairpin bends and cliffs, took us to Shigar. Shortly afterwards, a washed-away
bridge made abandoning the Jeep to walk across the fragile-looking bridge on
foot. An extra 20-minute walk brought us to a landslide area, a nerve-racking
and slippery walk up the mountain and down the other side to where a Jeep was
waiting. Then, off to Shigar, where Mark and Alex were to overnight at the
Shigar Fort hotel.
Seeing
the hotel, I followed suit as it had been 14 days since our last shower. As we’d
been walking and sleeping in the same clothes, all we could think of were hot
showers and clean clothes. This 400-year-old fort, restored and converted into
a hotel, was the perfect place to do it. So, we showered and showered; I must’ve
stood there at least half an hour, what luxury. Later, supper was at the hotel
restaurant before retiring to our immensely fancy rooms.
24
July - Shigar – Skardu - Islamabad
In
the morning, we were picked up for the short drive to Skardu, from where small
aircrafts flew to Islamabad (for your own account). These flights were never
sure as they were weather dependent. But, to our delight, the flight was on (albeit
late), and we took off to Islamabad, avoiding a two-day return trip by Jeep. By
evening, I learned Ernest was a mere 16 kilometres from Rawalpindi. He had a
knack for showing up at the most unexpected times.
25
July - 13 August - Islamabad
I
subsequently discovered that Islamabad had a campsite in the centre of town. The
camp was an intriguing place where one met various travellers, some by bicycle
and others travelling overland, all remarkably interesting with many fascinating
stories.
In
the meantime, Ernest arrived. But, unfortunately, the plans of biking to China
fell apart. After nearly two weeks, we realised getting a Chinese visa in
Islamabad was an impossible task. Instead, we opted to cycle India instead. Following
handing in our Indian visa applications, Ernest and I left Islamabad to bike
the Karakoram Highway, one of the planet’s most iconic cycling routes.
14
August - Islamabad – Aliabad (by bus)
Instead
of riding up the Karakoram to the Chinese border and returning the same way, taking
a bus to Aliabad and cycling back to pick up the Indian visas before running
out of visa time in Pakistan made more sense.
After
a slow start, a short bike ride led to Rawalpindi, from where busses departed to
Aliabad in the Hunza Valley. The bus left at 14h30 and we settled in for the long
overnight trip. The ride was painfully slow and somewhat uncomfortable.
Nevertheless, I once again admired backpackers travelling overland by bus.
15
August - Aliabad - Karimabad
Being
a night bus, little sleep was had as the bus rattled, bumped, and shook along
the narrow, bumpy KKH. Arrival in Aliabad was at midday, making the trip a
22-hour bus ride. A short seven-kilometre bike pedal from the bus stop ran to
Karimabad via a sharp two-kilometre climb.
Sporting
excellent vistas and good food, Haider Inn was a popular hangout amongst overlanders
and backpackers alike. A communal set dinner was served in the evenings,
consisting of soup, veggies, pasta, dhal, rice, tea, and dessert. The long
table made a social get-together, and many hours were spent chatting with other
travellers.
16
August - Karimabad – Passu – 51 km
From
Karimabad the route climbed further up the pass to the Chinese/Pakistani
border. Knowing full well there would be no crossing into China, we biked to the
border anyhow, if only to take a picture.
Phew,
at last, I was back on the bike. The road was washed away with evidence of
rockfalls and the going slow. Mercifully, the route was relatively quiet, and
we only encountered a few trucks and Jeeps. The path subsequently spat us out in
Passu where camping was behind the Glacier Breeze Restaurant, right at the foot
of the Passu Glassier.
The
restaurant was well known for its excellent cuisine, and we splashed out on
supper and enjoyed the famed Hunza food. A full moon awarded our efforts - what
a sight as the moon rose and shone upon the snow-covered mountains and nearby
glacier!
17
August - Passu – Sost – 41 km
The
KKH continued up the valley. While there were no significant climbs, the path
was undulating, past many tiny mountain hamlets. The short distance made for an
early arrival. We opted for a room at a shabby hotel, which turned out a joint
offering extremely basic accommodation. Sost was a typical border town, dusty
and dingy with trucks running to and from China.
18-19
August – Sost - Khunjerab Pass - Sost – 87 km
Unpleasant
weather made us stay put before heading up the pass. On a brilliant, cloudless,
sunny day, a Jeep ride took us to the border situated at the top of the Khunjerab
Pass (4,733m), from where an 87-kilometre descent took us back to Sost.
The
landscape was spectacular and halfway to Sost the scenery called for a coffee stop,
and the stove was lit. One could only be in awe of those majestic mountains. In
silence, we sat staring at that remarkable landscape, feeling blessed and
privileged.
20
August - Sost – Karimabad – 94 km
The
route to Karrmabad wasn’t as downhill as anticipated but undulating, including
a few steep climbs. I felt tired arriving in Karimabad but had to cycle the sharp,
two-kilometre climb to the village. Maybe my lack of energy was due to the cold
I’d been suffering from or perhaps the altitude. Fortunately, an excellent
supper awaited us at the inn.
21
August - Karimabad
The
incredible views and atmosphere of Heider Inn made spending an additional day, primarily
to see if my cold wouldn’t improve, before setting off. Unfortunately, electricity
in these remote areas was unreliable and power was lost three times during my
attempt to send an email, how frustrating. Still, I couldn’t complain as the
majority of smaller villages had power only on alternative days.
22
August – Karimabad
An
overcast and rainy day made for lying in. Breakfast was milk tea and pancake (a
thick pancake with jam). Lunch was more Hunza food consisting of pizza (onion,
tomato and cheese sandwiched between two chapattis). Supper was the usual
communal one followed by a few beers and much jabbering with other travellers.
Karimabad
is one of those places where people come for a day but end up staying a week,
and I could see why. A walk around the hamlet revealed a fascinating old, renovated
fort, built in the 8th century BC. A steep hike ran through a small settlement en
route to the fort, offering unobstructed views of Karimabad and the valleys
beyond.
23
August - Karimabad – Gilgit – 106 km
Well-fed
and rested, Ernest and I departed Karimabad for Gilgit. Still, not far beyond
Karimabad, we found the path blocked due to a landslide. There wasn’t a great
deal one could do but wait until the debris was cleared. Waiting, boulders came
rolling down the mountain, making all scurry in different directions. I never
imagined I would need to run for my life from rocks rolling down a cliffside.
Assuming
the ride to Gilgit would be straightforward, the hills came as a surprise, reminding
me we were indeed along the KKH and at high altitude. I wheezed my way up the
sharp inclines; luckily, many settlements and shops dotted the path where one
could buy snacks and drinks. Gilgit, situated in a broad valley, was reached via
a small, narrow tunnel and suspension bridge, making riding even more exciting.
24
August - Gilgit
Bunking
down was at the popular Madina Hotel, slightly pricier, but the rooms offered
clean bedding and hot water, and thus worth each cent.
Gilgit
was considered Pakistan’s tourist capital and served as a hub for trekking and
mountaineering expeditions in the Karakoram region. The town was surrounded by a
few of the highest peaks on the planet.
The
next day was spent wandering around town and exploring the markets. Traditionally
part of the silk route, Gilgit is still known for its bustling and colourful markets.
Ernest bought himself a Hunza cap with loads of advice and encouragement from
other shoppers.
25
August - Gilgit – Talechi – 67 km
We
left the Madina Hotel late. There were times I wished Ernest could get an earlier
start, but to get him going in the morning was a near impossible task and highly
annoying. I’d no problem waiting for someone but claiming it took four hours to
load a bicycle was excessive by anyone's standards.
No
significant hills were encountered, only the general ups and downs of the
Karakoram. A whitewashed monument signalled the familiar junction of the
Karakoram, Hindukush and Himalaya mountains, where I wasn’t too long ago. Unfortunately,
a Dutch traveller pulled too far off the road and overturned his Land Cruiser.
A tad further, was the Nanga Parbat Hotel, a half-built structure that made for
excellent camping. The views across to Nanga Parbat (8,125m and the second
highest in Pakistan) were fantastic. Known as Killer Mountain due to the many
deaths among mountaineers, I was happily watching from afar.
26
August - Talechi – Chilas – 71 km
A
hot and dry day’s pedalling proceeded to historic Chilas. Delayed by Ernest,
who had three punctures, our arrival was considerably later than anticipated. A
headwind picked up between two and four o’clock, and best to do the majority of
the riding in the morning, if Ernest could get going at a reasonable time.
People
warned about stone-throwing in the region, which we experienced that day. Mercifully,
the notorious landslide area close to Raikot Bridge came without delays and didn’t
require any running from boulders like a few days earlier. Regrettably, the Karakoram
Inn at Chilas was a typical Pakistani budget hotel with dirty bedding and
filthy bathrooms.
27
August - Chilas – Dasu – 117 km
Between
Chilas and Dasu, our route entered the Indus Kohistan district. In this
immensely conservative area, no women were seen outside. Here the gorge was
deep and narrow with cliffs along one side and sheer drop-offs down to the
river. The place reminded me of Ethiopia, both in the scenery and
stone-throwing children. Considered a slightly lawless region, camping in the
wild wasn’t recommended and best to opt for accommodation. However, almost 15 kilometres
before Dasu, a rest house with an idyllic setting lured us in. When the manager
offered us a room at 50% discount, staying the night became a no-brainer.
28
August - Dasu – Pattan – 53 km
The
plan was to bike to Besham, but after 50 kilometres and more delays by Ernest
having another flat tyre, we overnighted in Pattan. Ernest had, by then, used
all his spare tubes as well as mine, leaving us in desperate need of both
patches and tubes.
The
day's ride was picturesque. The route climbed high up along the canyon wall. The
landscape was genuinely spectacular with more greenery than further north. The
Indus River flowed far below as the path zig-zagged up the mountain along a
road washed away or damaged by rock falls.
29
August - Pattan – Batagram - 96 km
The
stretch between Pattan and Batagram was, at least to me, the most beautiful
part of the KKH, with ample greenery and forested mountainsides. Sadly, the road
was so poor that my front luggage rack broke. The rack was held together for
months afterwards with duct tape and cable ties. Still, it wasn’t half as bad
as the Polish cyclist we met nursing his bicycle along using a single gear.
At
Thakot, our route crossed the Indus River (the official start and end of the
KKH) and climbed out of the Indus valley; a hot, sweaty affair. Our hotel in Batagram
had seen better days and the lack of tourism was painfully visible in many of
these places.
30
August - Batagram – Abbottabad - 98 km
From
Batagram, we churned our way up to Chatter Plain, followed by a great descent
into Mansehra. By then, villages were close together with busy bazaars. The
road congestion made it a slow and frustrating process, even on a bicycle. The route
was jam-packed with colourful trucks, cars, Jeeps and donkey carts.
From
Mansehra to Abottobad was undulating. At least, by then, the children appeared
scared of us and ran for their lives spotting us. People were genuinely
surprised and stared open-mouthed. Even though the KKH was considered a popular
cycling route, not enough came past to make seeing cyclists a daily occurrence.
31
August - Abottobad – Islamabad – 125 km
The
route into Islamabad was an unpleasant ride following such a long time in the
mountains with fantastic vistas - how spoilt we’d become. Our journey was
marred by roadworks, which never made for pleasant riding; instead, it became dusty
and frustrating. Although away for more than two weeks, we found the same
people still at Islamabad's campsite, waiting for their respective visas.
1
– 3 September - Islamabad
Luckily,
our Indian visas were ready, and Ernest spent two entire days cleaning and
servicing the bikes. We were operating in low gear and I bought two more books as
they were incredibly cheap (all copies). Therefore, added to my luggage was not
only an exceptionally thick Indian Lonely Planet but also two novels.
Being
Ramzaan (Ramadan), the markets were quiet. Still, mosques started at 4 a.m., and
at the campsite the call was followed by a sudden and loud clatter of pots and
pans as workers and camp guards prepared to eat before sunrise.
4
September - Islamabad – Jhelum – 124 km
Eventually,
we said goodbye to our friends at the campsite and headed south in India's
direction via Lahore. Pedalling became considerably more manageable with the
road surface a great deal smoother than the KKH. Albeit hot and humid, the
weather was better once on the bike as one created your own air movement.
Good
time was made to Jhelum as the traffic was light. Mercifully, roadside truck stops
and petrol stations were open, providing ample water opportunities (even though
Ramadan). Once in Jhelum, our abode was a typical Pakistani joint, offering breakfast
at 4h00 (politely declined) and sporting directions to Mecca and prayer mats
instead of towels. This is precisely the reason I love travelling.
5
September - Jhelum – Gujranwala – 100 km
Following
our own, far later, breakfast of peanut butter sandwiches, we pointed the bikes
south in the direction of Lahore. Early afternoon, a massive storm hit complete
with a howling wind and dust, followed by thunder, lightning and hail. Together
with motorbikes, we sheltered. After approximately an hour, the worst was over,
and we could all be on our way. At least the dust had settled, and one could
see where to go. Not much further, it started raining, and we ended the day’s
ride at an overpriced roadside hotel.
6
September - Gujranwala – Lahore – 82 km
The
ride into Lahore was relatively quick along a flat but uneven road. As the route
passed through numerous busy markets with chaotic traffic and cakes of buffalo
dung drying on the no-man’s-land adjacent to the highway, the area wasn’t unlike
Africa. There were kids aplenty, all eager to give chase, a chase which usually
ended in a chain or pedal coming off.
Riding
into Lahore, the country's second-largest city after Karachi, was another event
considered for “Fear Factor”. Streets were jam-packed with vehicles, animals
and people of all shapes and sizes, and as far as I could figure, there were no
rules at all. It, nevertheless, seemed essential to make as much noise as
possible, and every 10 metres of safe progress became a major accomplishment.
7-8
September - Lahore
A
reasonably priced place in Anarkali market with its narrow, winding and crowded
neighbourhood made a unique place to stay. Not just did it take dodging rickshaws
and other traffic but also cricket balls, as cricket was a game played upon each
available pavement, street, or open area.
As
the country’s cultural capital, Lahore had plenty to offer. The day was spent wandering
the old city, with its ancient fort and mosque, where a walk up one of the
minarets gave fabulous views of the remnants of old Lahore.
Eating
from the ever-present street food vendors at Gawalmandi (even if still Ramzaan),
I’d the best salty lassi ever. But unfortunately, the air pollution was
tangible, and Ernest picked up the dreaded “Lahore throat”.
9
September – Lahore, Pakistan to Amritsar, Punjab, India – 67 km
Following
the canal with kids jumping into the muddy waters, it turned out a mere 35-kilometre
ride to the border. The border was modern, efficient and unexpectedly quiet.
From the immigration office, a 30-kilometre ride proceeded to Amritsar.
The
difference between Pakistan and India was clearly visible. The sight of ladies
in colourful saris billowing in the wind made me fall in love with India
forever. Add cycling slap-bang into a parade, elephant and all, made me realise
this was indeed India.
The
province of Punjab was the land of Sikhs and abounded with turban-clad men. Amritsar
was home to the Sikh's holiest shrine, The Golden Temple. The temple wasn't
only one of the most sacred but a symbol of brotherhood and equality. Anyone is
welcome, regardless of colour, race, or creed.
