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Published: September 18th 2007
After a long night and even longer following day on the not-so-luxury "VIP" bus we finally arrive in Skardu. We would have preffered to cycle here from Kargil but the road west of Kargil is out of bounds and it is only possible to travel about 10km along the road east from Skardu. However we are back in Ladakh, sort of. Skardu is the capital of Baltistan and the former winter capital of Ladakh, although at later times Baltistan came to control all of Ladakh along with much of what is now Northern Pakistan. We are back on the Indus and the scenery and landscape are all reminiscent of Ladakh to a degree, but there are major differences. Skardu is full power muslim and there are no women on the streets and the men all wear Shalwar Kamize, although everyone understands our few words of Ladakhi and the people are just as freindly and smiley as their Ladakhi counterparts.
We find a room in a small guesthouse run by Iqbal who is either constantly grinning like a chesire cat or else laughing hysterically. We tell him we have been in Kargil and he says he hopes the road will be
opened very soon. Most families in Baltistan have relatives across the Line of Control that they have not seen for 60 years, and the people of Balyistan and Ladakh have never been at war with each other. It is 170km to Kargil on the direct but closed road, this would take us 2 days to cycle or only a few hours by bus or jeep. Instead we have travelled over 1700km to get from Kargil to Skardu.
After a good nights sleep and a long lie we set out to explore the town. The Indus valley is here much narrower than in Ladakh and the surrounding mountains tower over the town as if they might suddenly topple and crush it. We climb up to the fort on a high rock betwen the town and the Indus and can truly apppreciate the landscape - the river is as wide as a lake and barely seems to be moving, reflecting the rocky peaks all around. Beyond the town the flat valley floor is home to a desert of shifting sand dunes, whilst looking east we can see the confluence of the Shyok River and the Indus. The Shyok flows out of
the Nubra valley in Ladakh and the mountains that rise between the 2 rivers mark the western end of the Ladakh range. The high snow capped peaks of the Karakorum are hidden to the north. The fort is not so impressive but the setting and the view are, and whilst we admire it all we here drums and music start up and look down to see a polo match beginning back down in the town.
We soon scramble back down and get a ringside seat for the second half of the game, Skardu are playing someone else and from the reaction of the crowd Skardu dont seem mto be doing so well. It is our first ever polo game and is pretty exciting, at one point we almost get whacked in the head with a stick. It was a bit like watching small kids playing football - everyone just madly dashes after the ball in one big scrum and every now and then someone would break free and dash toward our end to score. All the time drums and horns of the band kept up a frantic rythym to add to the excitement. I have no idea who won
or what the score was come the end, but everyone seemed happy including the horses which were easily the most healthy looking horses we had seen since we were last in northern Pakistan.
Skardu is the main base for treks and climbs into the high Karakorum, but we did not have the 2-3 weeks required for the really cool treks up to the Baltoro glacier, Concordia and K2 base camp. The permits are also quite expensive. In the end we spend 3-4 days just relaxing in the town, going for walks along the Indus and trying to recover some motivation. After the initial happiness to have escaped India and be back in Pakistan we have again slumped - althoug it is nice, it is not new and we begin to wonder if we have just had enough of it all, that we have been on the road for too long and have become saturated. We dont seem to be enjoying ourselves or our amazing surroundings in the same way we would have done a year ago and for the first time we begin to seriously consider going home, although having kind of comitted ourselves to not flying this is
not an easy or quick thing to do.
In the end after amusing Iqbal by staying yet aother day we finally load our bikes and set off down the Indus towards Gilgit. After 20km or so the wide valley suddenly narrows, the sand dunes fade away and the Indus is squeeezd into a narrow gorge that runs all the way to its confluence with the Gilgit river. From a broad and placid lake the river is sudenly transformed into a deafening, roaring, foaming fury only a few metres wide in places and the power and force of the water is indescribable.
Our road crosses a narrow wooden suspension bridge at the mouth of the gorge and then follows the river west, sometimes climbing far above it, sometimes dropping so close to the furious waters we are dampened by the spray. The road often clings to the most narow precipes on the vetical walls of the canyon, and in places has been cut into the cliff so the mountain hangs above our heads with just enough clearance for a Pakistani truck to pass under (and sometimes not quite enough...). The gorge is amazing but is so narrow and steep
we are for the most part denied a view of the huge ice and snow capped peaks that surround us, only able to see walls of near vertical rock rising up and the angry waters churning below or beside us. It is also very hot, the intense sun is reflected off all the rock and magnified by the steep walls to create a kind of natural solar oven, and this combined with our lazy legs and the constant steep up-and-down of the road begins to sap our will power. We stop early in a truck stop style hotel place and cool ourselves by washing with the freezing cold water straight off the glacial river.
We spend the evening chatting to the locals, especially when the Islamabad bus stops for dinner, and are quietly taken aback by the level of intelligent conversation and comments after months of the same silly questions all the time in India. For instance one guys asks if we have children and when I tell him no he instantly nods and says, "yes, where would you put them on your bikes" - in India we would always explain this to people but they didnt seem to
see it as a problem. Erika asks the cook what is for dinner and he says chicken or mutton, 2 butchered chickens are already hanging up but then we see him leading a goat towards the kitchen. The mutton curry was very fresh indeed that night....
We continue down the gorge the next day, glad every time the bare rock gives way to small green oasis of a village where familes are harvesting wheat by hand and the corn is slowly ripening. Eventually in late afternoon the gorge widens and we emerge into a broad valley and meet the Gilgit river flowing from the north. Ahead should be the huge bulk of Nanga Parbat, the 9th highest peak in the world, but it is veiled behind a thick layer of cloud and haze. We cross the Gilgit river on another amazing suspension bridge and join the Karakorum Highway (KKH) proper for the last 40km north to Gilgit. We had expected these to be easy as the road is much better and flatter (or so we thought), but the strong north wind had other ideas and as we had already covered over 100km we began to flag. Eventually we reached
the turning into Gilgit as the sunset Azan sounded and finally entered the bazaar in the dark.
We spent a couple of days resting in Gilgit - it had been almost a month since we had last cycled properly and our legs could feel it. Robin bought a chitrali cap and would have easily passed as a local but for his long hair. He had some trouble finding a hat to fit over his huge dreads and the hat maker was very happy to suggest a haircut even producing a huge pair of felt-cutting scissors for the job! We met some other travellers, including a South African who's birthday it was and who really wanted a drink to celebrate. Her Danish freinds spent 8 hours searching for booze on a Friday, eventually returning with 4 huge plastic bags full of "wine" that turned out to be more the strength of rocket fuel like vodka, but with a sweet taste of mulberries. So of course we did the good thing and helped them to drink it.
And then it was time to push on north towards Hunza, the paradise valley. We took a short cut to Nomal on the
opposite side of the Hunza river to the main KKH and got an absolute soaking in a huge and sudden downpour of rain. We warmed up in Nomal over bowls of steaming hot 'Bala' - a kind of thick noodle soup that is Pakistans answer to Thukpa - and cups of sweet chai, before crossing the river and following the KKH north as the clouds cleared and the sun came out. As the road slowly turns east into the Hunza valley proper we passed the bridge to Chalt and then rounded a rock to be confonted by a truly amazing sight - the steep ice face of Rakaposhi rising almost 6000m up from the highway in the horizontal space of less then 2km. It is allegedly the steepest place on the planet (according to Pakistan, but then the KKH is also officially the 8th wonder of the World). We stopped to admire the view and probably spoent too long gazing upwards, but figured we only had a few easy km left to Minapin, our target for the day.
We didn't count on finding a huge landslide blocking the road, however, with tons of mud and rock covering the highway
and half a village's corn fields. Dozens of trucks were waiting for it be cleared but we manged to porter our bags and bikes over fairly easily with some help, before finally reaching Minapin after dark again. The landslides and rockfalls are just part of life here and it reminds us how impermanet everything in nature is and how powerful the forces of nature are, that these huge towering mounains around us are still growing every year but also being hugely eroded at the same time, and all these processes are visible here.
From Minapin Robin treekked up to the Rakaposhi base camp, completing a supposed 3-day trek in just over 3 hours. The glaciers were amazing but again cloud shrouded the peaks. The village was impresive in its own right though; full of apple trees dripping with ripe apples. We were in Nagyr now and the people were all Shia, which meant women were everywhere also giving a much nicer atmosphere to the place.
From Minapin it was a short ride back across the river to Hunza, a different kingdom and a different religion - here people are Ismaili and many women are uncovered. In 4 days
of cycling we had passed through 3-4 different 'kingdoms' and 3 different language areas, from Baltistan to the Shina of Gilgit to the Burushahski of Hunza and Nagyr. Climbing uphill to Karimabad we head straight to Haider Inn and meet our old freind Haider Ji who instantly recognises us, his face lights up and he is as happy as we are that we back in this amazing place. We spend a few days just relaxing and using the internet and enjoying Haider's huge evening feasts.
Finally we drag ourselves on again, this time towards Passu, and clock our 25000th kilometre as we cross from Hunza into Gojal. The sky had mostly been grey in Hunza but now it cleared revelaing huge peaks all around. The road at times crosses the scree of the terminal moraines of huger glaciers which spill into the broad Hunza river, and ahead the distinctive Passu Cones begin to take shape. From Hussaini we have a long climb up to the ridge betwen 2 glaciers but then amazing views up the Passu glacier as we descend into the village. We arrive for lunch and spend the afternoon playing on the crazy suspension bridge that spans
On top of the Khunjerab Pass
4800-900m up in the Karakorum and as far as we can cycle. Behind us is our 'guard' to make sure we dont try and do a runner inot China! Oh and the weather is pants.the Hunza river and once more regret we do not have more time to spend in this amazing place. We could easily spend a month just in Gojal, doing different treks and relaxing in Passu.
But we do not have so much time, the snows will soon be coming and we have to keep moving. The next morning we ride to Sost, the end of the road in Pakistan as this is the place we must take a bus to China. Sadly the Chinese will not allow people to cycle between the border on the Khunjerab Pass and Tashkorgan, the first big town on the Chinese side and the customs and immigration post. But we have already missed the one and only bus for the day and dont want to hang around all afternoon in Sost. So we buy some supplies and cycle on northwards towards the Khunjerab National Park. The huge peaks south of Sost gradully drop behind and the road enters a narrow gorge following the ever more narrow Hunza River, now the Khunjerab River. The road seems flat but we can feel that we are climbing quite steeply and as we appraoch the Park entrance at
China Border
The second time we have reached this border by people power only to be turned back. Dih we are really tired. We had hoped to camp further up inside the park but the rangers tell us there is a $50 overnight fee!! They are really nice though and let us camp for free beside their hut and even offer us food. It is cold for the first time - we are now above 3000m again - and we eat our noodle soup inside their kitchen next to the fire. They are mostly Tajiks and speak Wakhi, the main language of Gojal, although one guy speaks Burushashki and another Shina as their native languages. In addition they all speak Urdu and English. They tell us Tajik is like Persian but our Parsi doesn't seem to work too well.
We are up early the next morning to cycle the Khunjerab, and decide to leave most of our luggae at Dih to make things easier. The road climbs steadily up a deserted scree covered valley with only scraggly scrub in the bottom, and after 30km turns away from the river and begins to climb very steeply up a series of hairpins. The mountians are mostly hidden by cloud but the day is cool which helps us cycle fast
Khunjerab Pass
The view from the bus the day after we cycled up. even up the hill. The road is good and the gradient never too bad - huge Chinese juggernauts are already descending from the summit. We see lots of huge Marmots but no Ibex, probably due to the poor visibility. As the mountains level out ahead and we start to enter something more like the Pamir and approach the pass we are greeted bey a ferocious freezing headwind and it starts to snow. We arrive at the top of the 4800m pass half frozen and finally persuade the Pakistani guards to let us through the final chekcpoint to the actual border line to pose for a few photos. We can see hardly anything, just able to make out the Chinese checkpost 100m away. We are happy to have cycled up though, on the Chinese side the road becomes 3 times wider and has an excellent surface compared to Pakistan's. We return with our guard and happily have our lunch in the relative warmth of their guardpost, with plenty of free hot chai of course.
For the descent back to Pakistan we put on all the clothes we have with us and re-enter the blizzard. We are speeding downhill as fast
Top of the KKH
On Khunjerab Pass, from the bus. as possible to esacpe the cold winds on the pass, and after a few hairpins I see a starled and very fat Marmot racing along beside my bike, before it decides to cross the road to its burrow. Unfortunately it runs right under my front wheel and despite my speed on the collision the bike stops dead and catapults me over the handlebars. Fortunately I have only a badly bruised knee, the bike is fine and the marmot runs off but must certainly be badly injured.
We cruise the rest of the way down to Dih, load up our bikes and try to race down to Sost before dark, failing once again and riding the last 15km in pitch black, hoping not to hit any rocks or potholes in the road. We finally make it in one piece, completely knackered but glad we cycled as much of the pass as we could. The next morning we wheel our bikes to customs and load everthing on yet another bus to travel the same road, but this time all the way over to China.
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bilal
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bilal
thanks for showing me the photos of my own country.... i feel so bad that i havent been able to travel to these areas that you have shown in these photos ... lovely place ... thanks cheers