Khunjerab Pass and the KKH

Pakistani truck drivers inspecting
the van of dreams
Originally uploaded by rtw2007.

We are now in Karimabad, Pakistan in one of the most picturesque internet cafes around. As we sit here typing this, we can gaze out of the window down the beautiful Hunza valley, over green villages and the fast flowing river, all in the shadow of enormous snow laden Karakoram peaks. But enough of that; on with the blog…

We left Kashgar after a very relaxing week and drove up to Lake Karakul. This spectacularly beautiful alpine lake is in a picture-postcard setting, with two enormous (7000m plus) mountains on either side of the turquoise water and a series of yurts dotted around the outside edge. The yurts are a reflection of Karakul village being almost entirely Kyrgyz: although we are squarely in China, the Xinjiang province is a real mish-mash of various ethnic, mainly Muslim, groups spilling over from Central Asia. Kashgar has a huge concentration of Uighurs; Karakul is largely Kyrgyz; whilst Tashkurgan (further down the road toward the Kunjerab Pass) is primarily Tajik.

We parked in a really picturesque spot next to one of the yurts, on a headland protruding into the lake. Apart from endless requests from the Kyrgyz villagers that we buy their jewellery, eat their food, stay in their yurt or ride their horse / camel, we had a very peaceful couple of days wandering by the lake and lazing around drinking chai in camping chairs in the sunshine.

The roads in China have been fantastic and progress is suddenly so much faster and easier than during the past few months. We also had the perk of not needing a Chinese guide with us the whole time in the van, as we had expected. Instead, we met our guide, Hu Wen Lei, in the provincial, frontier town of Tashkurgan so that he could complete the reams of paperwork required for our van at the border. During the evening, we visited the crumbling fort and then Hu Wen Lei took us to a tiny Chinese restaurant for some excellent local food and our last beer for a while (we have a dry month in Pakistan to come).

Hu Wen Lei’s choice of restaurant was much better than Michael’s recommendation of the café at the Traffic Hotel (where he had stayed two years ago with Chris and Rich when they were here) - our food there at lunchtime had been accompanied by a dead mouse on the floor and the toilets were horrendous. If there is one thing that the Chinese could do to make tourists better enjoy their experience in the country, it would be to build some decent toilets. Absolutely everyone complains about it. We thought that we had become hardened to utterly grim toilets after weeks of bad experiences in Central Asia, but China still wins hands down on that front.

The next morning, we left the land of Chinese food, beer and Rondo biscuits to head into Pakistan. Chinese customs was slow but painless. We passed the time by reading the endless signs on the wall directing the Chinese officials on exactly how to behave (such as, “Remember: the passenger is the master, the relative, the teacher”; “Be loyal to the party”; and a rather misfortunate spelling of “Be loyal to the country”). We passed the final Chinese checkpoint where as usual the soldiers saluted us as we drove through, in a very over the top, rod-up-the-backside fashion, and then started the climb up to the Khunjerab Pass at 4680m high. The valley is pretty spectacular and it was snowing as we reached the top of the pass, prompting us to feel very sorry for the soldiers who were standing up there for seemingly not very much reason at all.

At the top of the pass, we switched to the left hand side of the road for the first time since we left the UK. It is feels very odd to be back on the left after 14,000 miles of driving on the right. The first Pakistani checkpoint came as a very refreshing change to the checkpoints in former-Soviet countries: the two guards had absolutely no interest whatsoever in checking our passports, but were far more interested in welcoming us to Pakistan with broad smiles and inviting us into their hut for tea. We politely declined as we wanted to get to Sost to immigrate, so we meandered down the switchbacks on the valley road. The road condition had deteriorated as soon as we got into Pakistan and it is easy to see why. The mountains are very much in charge around here and the road feels very much like an unwanted guest, which gets encroached by the mountains very easily. Rockfall and landslides dotted our path all the way down the valley and at points it seems surprising that the road has survived at all.

There were lots of police and army checkpoints on the way down the valley, but again all of them were incredibly friendly and simply involved filling in passport details in an exercise book. At Sost, we immigrated easily and then ate our first Pakistani meal of delicious curry, dhal and chapattis for the bargain price of 65 pence for two people. After lunch we got our Carnet de Passage (the passport for our van) stamped and watched the customs men confiscate beer from some Pakistani traders who had tried to smuggle some cans in from China on the bus. Our van received only a cursory inspection – as soon as the customs men were convinced that we were not trying to smuggle alcohol, they lost all interest in their search and instead focussed on welcoming us to the country and telling us how beautiful northern Pakistan is.

We parked up at a local hotel and wandered across the river to a local village. Or at least we tried to. It took us about 20 minutes to walk 500m because every thirty seconds someone would stop to say hello and introduce themselves. Within two minutes we had collected the address of a local teacher and an invitation from the driver of a passing car to go up to his garden and help ourselves to apricots and apples from the orchard. The village itself is stunning: the gardens are full of flowers and fruit trees; the flat roofs are covered in apricots and apples drying in the sun; and the houses all have spectacular views over the mountains and the valleys below. We watched some boys playing cricket and wondered whether they appreciate what a stunning backdrop they play against – we suspect that they don’t really even notice.

In Sost, we filled up with diesel for the journey and got mobbed at the petrol station by the drivers of some ornate Pakistani Bedford trucks. The trucks are amazing: they are completely covered in paintings, mirrors, fabric and tassels on the outside and filled with flowers and decorated seat covers on the inside. We both got into one of the trucks to admire the amazing interior and had lots of photos taken with the truck drivers, who seemed far more impressed with our grey lump of a van than with their own amazing vehicles.

The past couple of days have involved driving slowly through the Gojal valley; walking in the lower reaches of the spectacular mountains, up to a nearby lake and glacier; and eating delicious local food. From here we will travel down through the Hunza Valley for a few days towards Gilgit, before potentially leaving the Karakoram Highway to go to Skardu, which sits in the shadow of K2.

Thanks for all the positive blog comments and emails, it’s great to hear from people from home. Special hellos to our most dedicated readers, including the whole Pitt family (get well soon NV!!), Pam & Norman and George & Margaret. We are impressed that you are still ploughing through the blog after all these months!