Pakistan - October 2009
Fate and adventures sit together in a certain time in history. 20 years ago I read the Zambezi was being dammed, and once built it would no longer be possible to run this jagged river - with rapids overflowing like no other river in the world - from Victoria Falls the full length to Lake Kariba. And so I organised the last river expedition along this great river, still her full mighty force, just as Livingstone had travelled a century ago. I remember jagged rapids, Deep Throat and Stairway, names in themselves to stir adventure.
The pure magical ring of ‘Karakoram’ does the same.
The political mix of Pakistan may well be the undoing of this surprising country, and in the near future it may implode into differing states. The Northern Lands would become differing self regulating autonomous regions, as they were before the Great Game and British conquest.
All this political talk aside, the Chinese are back with ambitions to build a new Karakoram, connecting new manufacturing factories in Kashgar to new mining interests in Africa, via the port of Gwador in Balushastan. And then at Chilas the hydro-electric dam is coming to drown the valley and sink the thousand year old rock art.
Then this road, in many places no more than a goat track, at best a country lane, will be a Highway in the appropriate sense of the word and another journey will have changed, if not snuffed out. Of course others will open and the world turns.
So before China to Islamabad comes down to a one day drive and the history of the road is changed for evermore, the present six day adventure of the Karakoram still has a little life left to grasp at, remaining for a while the beautiful untamed road she is now.
And so I put Islamabad behind and head high to 15,000 feet, for a remorseless drive over 650 km in 6 days; then as God did on the seventh - rested. A delightful way to spend a week.
From the plains of Rawalpindi to the deep valley ravines, passes too high to reach, Taliban welcoming us - family fear for us; Taliban closing roads to us; the surprise of golden sand deserts, and then the width of her high plateaus dazzle against the sun’s own light; wonderfully white, austere and stern are the high peaks that look down from the gods onto us travellers, releasing her rocks in unexpected landslides to slow our way.
This road was twelve years in the making and one death for ever kilometre, many Chinese, and this saddens me, for the road is only 30 years old and in disrepair. What a cost for so short a time.
Graves of the Chinese road builders, Gilget
A road with no more tourists and no women! We rise above the tree line and into the ruthless sober lands and for three days I saw not a single women. Village streets of men in the dress of Islam, beards and features developed and drawn by the harsh mountain climate, now strike fear into the western tourist with minds and thoughts of Jihad. So with fear, fearing only fear, the tourists come no more. From thousands a day to a trickle of half dozen a week now wander along this path into the high mountains.
Drive north zig zagging the wonderful mountainsides with glaciers engraved deep into rock high valleys above this road. Slowly the severe lands of the mountains, the kingdoms of Kohistan and Balistan, all in differing colours and perceptions, are behind as I make for the even higher Kingdom Valley of Hunza.
And Hunza – lush green amazing Hunza! A mountain wilderness transformed into the valley of Shangri-la by breathtaking green beauty enriched with endless poplar trees, with terraced fields of blossom, with her celebrated apricots, her peaches and her plums. Just the sight of Hunzar Valley, encircled by snow peaks and blue skies refreshes a fatigued driver. The world has changed, people do smile.
Film maker Umair Zahid and I look upon the Indus and Hunza Valley
This is Pakistan’s northern most valley bordering China. And as you drive into the valley women do exist; they are unmasked and their faces are beaming as they go about their business - dressed in saris of bright colours which show their strong white features which cause one stare in surprise. Women greet men openly, astonishing to see compared to segregated lives in other parts of the Islamic world.
Why? Because Hunza Valley is the home of the Ismailis with its lenient form of Islam, and the Agha Khan as their spiritual leader. Here no Pakistan army presence, no Taliban influence, no Ramadan. Just green, lush and at peace with herself, as life here is absent from the torrid politics trying to shape the lands outside the valley.
Hunza is the reward for those who toll this journey, where Ismailis, in the land of Shangri-la, live on tolerance, smiles, apricots and nuts, look forty and lived forever.
High above Krimabad, capitol of Hunza, is Baltic Fort. This is Great Game country, where I wanted to learn the story of Safdar Ali and Younghusband.
Hunain Ahmed is a slightly shy man of middling age, (who may well be 125 year old), short dark curly hair and holds the face of a family man flourishing, with pride and distinction, the position of curator of the Agha Khan’s citadel, Baltit Fort, perched to observe all of what goes on in the valley below.
With an intense and radiant stare on me Hunain enjoyed, with slow articulation, telling the story of this fort, this valley, and how these two men shaped the games played of years past. His informed words of conflict and treachery were enthralling, for when in 1889, at the height of the Great Game, with the Russians as close as the Pamirs, Safter Ali played the Russian Bear against the British Lion. From Younghusband he demanded a subsidy for not robbing British caravans. So the young British commander to show this trifling King of a valley, who considered Queen Victoria his equal, had his Gurkhas demonstrated the fire power of British military, by firing a volley at a rock 700 yards across the Hunza Valley. Apparently Safdar Ali laughed this off. Shooting rocks is tame boys stuff and asked the Gurkhas to fire at a man on the path opposite. Younghusband refused! as a shot would certainly hit and kill the man. Safdar Ali laughs – ‘But what does it matter if they do? After all he belongs to me.’
I journey to Hunza in an open 35 year old Willies jeep. On the first day she was a dog of a vehicle, and I cursed my stupidity. Every time I tried the brakes she lurched to the left. Her tyres had seen better days and her gearbox went from 5th to 1st and got me into all sorts of trouble. But she was a drop head and had a beauty I had missed on the opening day. However as we drove the final days to China I forgave her difficult behaviour and found character in her impolite habits.
And the road climbs on from Hunza back to the austere land going even further north. Back to valleys dry - barren – which cling to life. The changing form of road is physically magnificent, rising higher and higher to see the great sights of Nanga Parbat, Rakaposhi, even K2. From the peaks this road, this ‘highway’, looks no more than a dinky tear along her escarpments.
To remember the Karakorum before she sheds one skin and becomes a ‘highway’ all over again, I asked Pakistan film maker Umair Zahid to document this journey with me. It is my first attempt at more than 8 minutes and the story of this journey is too long for internet space. I will print 100 copies and would love all of you to ask for a copy, or I will have 100 copies for the grandchildren. If it is of interest to you and you would like to see this journey please do ask!
On our return from Hunza we travelled together across the 14,500 ft Babusar Pass to throw snow balls and look down upon the highest polo pitch in the world. Then drive into the breathtaking Kaghan Valley to see the devastation of the earthquake of 2005 and ultimately back to Islamabad. A great journey and fascinating drive to be on ROARRtv from 1st October.
As you read this I will be starting the Great Drives of Patagonia – Seven Lakes – Routa 40 and the greatest of all – Carretera Austral. These are the roads my heart as been set on since the Great Arc in March, waiting for the snows and unsympathetic Patagonia winter to pass into a spring time to coat the earth with early flowers. I can at last step into this land with the delight of my Italian mistress to drive. Driving the Karakorum in a Willies is attrition, wearing away and grinding at the adventure. Patagonia in an Alfa is pure driving paradise, motoring gratification here on earth.
Conrad Birch
