The hills are alive!

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Gilgit was so lively compared to Passu, and was our first town since Kashgar, with the streets around the guest house packed with lock-up shops selling pretty much everything a body might need - veg, clothes (some second hand), trekking gear, meat, spices, many mosques; a real bustling atmosphere that is a good rehearsal for India!
On our first day, we were taken on a mini tour of Gilgit. First to a 7th cent. Buddha carved into a rock face some 50 ft high in a very implausible location! (Why up there?) The carving is aproximately 15ft high, and fairly uremarkable save for the setting. Down the valley below the Buddha was a fast-flowing mountain stream, which where it's scored enough depth, the water sparkles a brilliant turquoise, and nipping betwen the stones we saw a dipper (without a white breast), and another dipping bird with black wings, a wonderful chestnut treast and a white cap. Also Black Redstarts.
There is little else in the way of sightseeing to be had in Gilgit, but the bazzaars are interesting enough. The shalwar kameez is universally worn by both sexes, and the very few women that are seen publicly, are either veiled, or cover their heads. In this exclusively male domain, Penny received many stares, none of which, however seemed hostlie - on the contrary, almost all the interaction is friendly and welcoming, and an added bonus is that people generally appreciate their photo being taken.
On September 26th we took off on a 3 day trek to the Nanga Parbat base camp in the company of a guide and a porter. Mumtaz, who organised the trek, and his brother Raji, our guide, were so helpful and considerate - just the right people for the job.
Nanga Parbat is the 9th highest mountain in the world at 8,125m with the sharpest elevation differences found anywhere on the planet - 7 almost vertical kilometres, from the summit to the Indus river, and the mountain's sheer, unbroken 4km south(rupal) face. We decided against climbing it this time.............
4 major ice falls converge beneath Nanga Parbat's north (Raikot) face, to form the 13km S-shaped Raikot Glacier. The river running from the glacier, to the Indus, forms one of the world's deepest gorges. The ride up the gorge to the quaintly named "Fairy Meadow", the start of our trek, was described in our guide book as,"sphincter puckering", and it certainly was! The 15km track was just jeep width most of the time, with a constant succession of hair pin bends. The edge of the track often crumbles into a sheer drop, and several of the bends were too sharp for the jeep to manage in one go, so the driver had to reverse back to the brink before steering round and up. Heart stopping stuff! At the end of the jeep track, we then had to walk. Shortly after we began walking, we caught our first uninterrupted view of Nanga Parbat towering above us. Absolutely stunning!
Fairy Meadow ia a village at the top of a valley, set in an almost perfect alpine location. Huge pine trees cover much of the area, though since trekking tourism has taken off, more and more villagers are turning to touriism and building encampments of wooden cabins. A local environmentalist told us that with no control measures to limit the number of cabins built, and the villagers not listening to outside advice, the place will self-destruct. According to him, this is just one example of the problem that besets all the popular tourist attractions in the Northern Areas. For all that, it is still an impossibly beautiful place and the most stunning aspect is the outrageous view of Nanga Parbat's North Face, with the Raikot Glacier running from it. We were lucky with the weather. The sky was a clear blue and it was very warm during the day. At 3500m, oxygen was in short supply, and the second we exerted ourselves we felt it. Though neither of us suffered any adverse effects of altitude, it was very hard going.
This area is known as a tribal area, and was our first encounter with 'men with guns'. Our guide told us that there were feuds between neighbouring tribes and the guns were self protection. At first glance, they look quite fierce, just like the TV images of Mujahedin and Taliban - Pashtun hats, piercing eyes, long beards, the ubiquitous salwar kameez, and the occasional Kalashnikov - but after 'Asalaam Aleikum', they are mostly extremely friendly.
The next morning we set off with our guide on the slow walk up to the viewpoint 300m below Base Camp. The track first led us to the side of the little hill on which we'd camped, and there, totally hidden until then, was the village of Fairy Meadow. It looked like a stone age-conurbation - turf roofed stone and wood houses, with little paddocks and plots roughly fenced above a broad pasture, with the mountain towering behind. The village was bustling with activity: sheep and goats were being led out to the woodland beyond, donkeys and families loaded with goods were bound for the lower valley and children, some with babies strapped to their backs, were playing. A surprising and lovely scene. We walked up through pine and birch woods, over streams and through more meadowland until we were high above the glacier and as close to Base Camp as we were able to go. We enjoyed a leisurely walk back down to an evening meal and campfire.
During one of our chats with various locals, one of the elders asked John his age. When he told him, he looked shocked and looked around at the others for confirmation. By his appearance we would have said this man was also in his sixties, so John asked him. The man looked at him very solemnly and said, 'Forty-three'. It was John's turn to look shocked! In asking the ages of other 'elders' around the campfire, they too informed us they were in their forties. These people tend to be long lived, it not being so unusual for them to live to be 100, but the impact on their bodies is obvious. These mountain people are like the mountains - rugged, beautiful, and susceptible to the ravages that go with this particular territory.
During our time in Pakistan, the whole of the country had been fasting for Ramadan, and when we returned to Gilgit, Eid, the celebratory breaking of the month of fasting, was imminent. There was an atmosphere akin to that of Christmas Eve in the streets outside the hotel, with lots of buying of clothes (everyone traditionally has a new outfit for Eid), sticky sweets, and a crowd outside the live chicken shop where they were killing the birds for the festive dinner.
The main topic of conversation at that time, was when Ramadan was going to end. It seems there are regional centres all over Pakistan who keep a look out for the new moon. If it is seen, then the Crescent Council in Islamabad can decree that Eid can begin. Apparently, the regional centre in Peshaqwar claimed to have seen it and decided unilaterally that it was to be Eid, so after much discussion and news updates on the TV, it was finally decided by Islamabad that Eid could go ahead the following day, October 1st. Once the head mullah had made the announcement at 10.30 pm, there was general jubilation amongst the staff at the hotel, with fireworks and a volley of gunfire in the streets.
We were invited to the home of the two brothers, Mumtaz and Raji, to join in their celebrations. There was a sumptuous feast laid out on the floor of their guestroom. Only when we walked in did it dawn on us that we weren't going to meet the family, or at least the female half, as once again the cast was exclusively male. Penny had often commented on the absence of women, and how she felt walking down a street populated almost solely by men, and being the object of much gawping. John too, to some degree, but coming to this home and not even being introduced to the people who had worked so hard to provide the spread before us, John felt uncomfortable. One treat on the menu was creme caramel, John's favourite. It was ambrosia! There was also a custard decorated with coconut and raisins that was equally delicious. We had noticed that many promising looking sweets often taste quite unpleasant. On another occasion a very nice looking cake, beautifully decorated and covered with what looked like whipped cream, was completely inedible! However, this little banquet tasted just as good as it looked. What was unusual was the order in which we ate the different courses - first the pudding, then some savouries, more pudding followed by a mutton curry and rice, interspersed with endless cups of chai. Occasionally the door would open, and food would be passed in, but all that was visible was the hands holding it, the body of the woman being tucked away round the side of the door. Penny went off to meet the women and children, whilst John was given a tour of the house and fields. Whilst the brothers are university educated, and speak good English, they still live in a very similar way to all the self-sufficient, peasant crofters that we've encountered in this region. They have enough land to provide their vegetables and fodder for the stock, which are taken to summer grazing in the mountains. There are also a large variety of fruit trees, including oranges, lemons, apricots, peaches,apples, pears and walnuts, of which Mumtaz was justly proud.
We were slightly in limbo at this point, waiting for more information from home about Rose's pregnancy, and how that would affect our plans. After kicking our heels for a few days, we decided to go to Skardu, in Baltistan, about 3 hours east of Gilgit. We were given a warm send off from the Madina guest house; they really are special.
The ride to Skardu was off the KKH along the Indus Gorge,which flows south through Pakistan and in to the sea at Karachi. The bus drove along the gorge, with the river roaring below, boiling and seething. the landscape was wild and rocky - a really deep gorge at times with tiny groups of stone houses on ledges, reached by wire baskets on cables across the valley. Here and there are caves high up on the seemingly vertical rock faces, where mining for quartz is carried. The minibus was, as usual, comlpetely overloaded, and the road was as usual, boulder strewn, and the surface completely eroded with the edges fallen away down to the river. We seem to be getting a bit blase about these white knuckle rides! We arrived at about 3pm in Skardu, a noisy, dirty town, and booked in to the cheapest hotel, which was on the main street, so also noisy and dirty! We went out to have a wander round the town, and noticed that the sky was very overcast. Suddenly, the wind got up and there was a terrific dust storm. It was horrible, dust filling our eyes and mouth. It was the only time Penny was pleased to be wearing her headscarf, as she could use it as protection. When we had battled our way back to the hotel, we found the power was off - so no lights, internet or phone for several hours - very frustrating. The town was built just above the Indus flood plain which was quite striking made of fine grey and white sand, that in places has been blown into dunes. Spent a pleasant few hours walking up to the remains of a fort above the town, then down to the river bed, which in part is covered with stones, smooth and multi-coloured, and we rooted around for the local jade, a muddy green.
We then walked up to the Italian built K2 museum, situated in Skardu as this is the starting point for groups attempting the mountain. There were some wonderful panoramic photos of the ranges, particularly one taken from Concordia, a point on the ascent which shows 7 of the world's highest peaks rising above the Boltoro Glacier. A couple of days later we took a jeep from Skardu to Khaplu, a 3 hour drive up a mountain road. Khaplu is a village very reminiscent of Arslanbob, in Kyrgyzstan' very fertile, productive land due to much terracing and irrigation . The language is different again - Balti is halfway between indian and tibetan, as are the facial features. Many of the people, especially children, stare at us as if they've not seen 'whitey' before, and after overcoming their inital shock, become quite taunting. Everybody stares and some seem quite wary. Not all, as some approach us in the by now, time honoured,"hello! How are you? What is your name?" which they must rehearse during the long winter evenings that prevail in these parts.
With that in mind, we decided it was time to head for India and the beach.

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Photos

fairy meadow
looking north to the Karakorams

fairy meadow
looking south to the Nanga Parbat massif

Raikot Glacier
looking down the glacier north to the Karakoram range

Nanga Parbat
North face Of Nanga Parbat with The converging glaciers

fairy meadow
Men with guns!

fairy meadow village
The village had a medieval feel to it

Jeep driver
our lives in his hands! he does the drive very nonchalantly a dozen times a day

villager
from fairy meadow

villager
an elderly(90+) villagerfrom fairy meaqdow

heading back to Gilgit
The walk to the jeep road down the gorge

fairy meadow
the end of the jeep road

jeep road
looking down the gorge

Eid celebratons
gone native for Eid!

Gilgit
High Street. Security is tight since riots 2 years ago

Gilgit
Blacksmith with lock-up shop in high street

high street Gilgit
wedding acessory shop

Comments

[jenny deadman]

hello lovelies
dearest lovelies, it is great to read your blog, I am so excited by your adventures especially the people that you meet. I have missed one or two and i will catch up as soon as i have let you know I am listening! Peter and I and Susie and the grandchildren and Natasha have just spent half term in Morocco and Salaam Alekum works wonders there too. It was great to get outside Europe and into the colour and warmth of the Moroccans people who we love....especially the Berbers who were the originals before the Arabs arived, tribal people. I must get back to your blog now. Much love and namaste, tashi deleh and salaam alekum xxxxxJenny