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friendly fo

iks add

to Pakistani travels

Brady Fetheringham

Contribsting Writer

“ASALAAM alecikuni (peace be on
you),” said the Frontier
Constabulary guard at the customs
checkpoint in Sust, Pakistan.

i had just crossed by bike over the
warld’s highest paved roadway, the
Khunjerab Pass, which straddles the
China/Pakistan border at 16,000 icet.
With the velocity ofan rolling missile, I
hurtled down into the Muslim nation,
negotiating ninety-degree switchbacks at
speeds in excess of 80 km/h.

My Rocky Mountain Fusion convulsed
with shudders in such a way that braking
would have upsct :ny balance

Propoffs into the Indus River that par-
allels the Karakoram Highway fell more
than 1800 feet in places as ] guided 115
pounds of gear on 3 bike complete with
Happing Canadian flag through 135 kilo-
metres of winding scree -covered road.

I knew my riding buddies back home
would be envious of such a downhill speed
record, but I was happy to have avoided
cirecning off the edge and joining Allah ia
the great afterlife.

The beauty and isolation of Hunza and
the northern areas of Pakistan — with their
jagged snow-capped peaks, meandering
silty rivers and kaleidoscopic purple sunsets
— gave rise to the epic novel Lost Horizon
by James Hilton a half century ago.

This Shangri La, still known as the
“roof of the world” and “little Tibet,”
home to more and often higher mountains
than either Nepal or Tiber.

K2, Gasherbrum, Broad Peak and
Nanga Parbat — four of the world’s 14
fabled 8000-metre peaks — Gominate
Kashmiri Pakistan.

Snow leopards living at altitudes above
18,000 feet are one of many (unfortunate-
ly) “endange ed species. The Marco Polo
sheep, which stands more than four teet
tall, is one of the mosr beautiful animals in
the world. Standing proud and fierce, just
like the Parkan tribesmen who inhabit
much of northwestern Pakistan and
Afghanistan, the Marco Folo’s precarious

is shared by ibexes, caracals and
the Persian wild goat.

In the centre of the mountain vallevs
runs the mighty Indus River. The lifeblood
of many sant farmer's field, the Indus
carries six billion cubic feet of silt cach
monsoon season as it winds its way
through the Karakorams down inte the
scorching plains and valleys of the south
before emptying into the Indian Ocean.

These monsoons crupt in torrential
downpours, veering north thi
for the first time in thirty-ti

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Villagers were caught unpreparec
their mud houses, roads and retain
ing walls washed away or cps
killing 160 people in ‘four days.
chunk of water-saturated wall felt on
ny head while [ was sleeping in the
New Hunza Tourist Guesthouse in
Karimabad.

Reing stuck in this town turned
out to be a godsend. f soon found that the
Burushiski/Urdu speaking focals were the
most engaging and gencrous people | had
ever met.

I was introduced to the Texan-born
daughter-in-law of the local Mir and was
invited to dine at their Lareli — a small
palace nestled amongst the town's poplar
trees and terraced hills. Trellised balcunies
and Victorian furnishings adorned the
stone residence as I was served carrot
murraba (sugary stew with almonds), brain
curry and paratha bread.

Mirsare like kings and decide who gets
what piece of fand, who may marry who
and whether Mohammed or Abdul gets
that prime grazirg land tor their goats.
This ancient cus i
in this remote tribal territo:
cade of badal (revenge) is a way of li
it is honor that is most importance. The
Pakistanis, regardless of their tribe or race,
live by their honor and a man is nothing
unless his honor is sacrosanct.

Karimabad and nearby Baltic are horne
to nwo amazing forts. The 765 year-old
Baltit fort, which was renovated in the fall
of 1996, looks down on the town of
Karimabad and across to the Rakaposhi
range. Eating breakfast on a rooftop restau-
rant, taking in some of the highest
mountains in the world, is indeed
the lap of luxury. The local’s dict of
apricots and mineral-rich water, cou-
pled with the infamous home-
brewed Hunza water (distilled
brandy), has made many a centenan-
an of the resident Ismaili Muslims.

cording to Baltit fort librarian
and curator Ejazullah Baig, the
whitewashed Tibetan-style Balti fort
doubled not only as the Afir’s resi-
dence, but as a dungeon, garrison
and militia room. Wher the Miérs
ruled the Hunza, Chitral, Nagar and
Baltistan fiefdoms centuries ago, the
latter was still part of the Tibetan
Empire. Consequently the influe
of architecture resembles the |
Lama's Potala Paiace in 1.

Such deep: rooted societ

slow to change cultural traditions
searding democracy, the role of
men or inter marri Ee be tween
different Muslim: sects. Residents of
the northern arcas only obtained the
tranchise to vate in February 1997,

but

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The burguah-clad woman is still a com-
mon sight and the men wear the customary
shalwar gamis — along baggy shirt with
ioose pajama-like bottoms with drawstring.

When the rains had relinquished, I had
the opperrunity co go hiking up to the base
of the 24,000-foor Ultar Glacier, situated
behind Karimabad. A former K2 guide and
porter, who had climbed with the leg-
endary mountaineer Reinhold Messner in
1976, was up for a daily jaunt that day
a porter he told me he makes a meagre 360
rupecs (SIG) per trip, but our conversation
soon became more personal as he ques:
tioned me on the esoteric topic of auting,
as he put it, in Western society.

“Why you no married? You have woman

"he asked. Well, no and yes

"1 wasn't about to explain in

dating problems of the average
Canadian male nor was J willing to convert
tea Islam and abide by the holy Koran. {
was assured f could have up io seven wives
if | was not happy. | was very happy right
here in Pakistan, singie and alone with my
mountain bike

Leaving behind Hunza, ! continued
down the highway into the blistering
plains and town of Chilas, complete with
ancient Buddhist inscriptions on rocks of

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NEWS photo Brady Fotheringg-n

THE indus River winds its way through the Karakorams in Hunza, Pakistan.

ibex hunting rituals, some dating back to
the bronze age. ] meta fellow cvelist from
the Croatian army (obviously on ‘holiday),
and we rode together for a tew days past
the Nanga Parbat massif of the western
Himalaya.

Manga Parbat, popular for its base camp
treks, has long been an obsession for
German high-altitude mountaincers.
During my stay in the area a Basque
climber from Spain died, another ‘person
lost both hands to frostbite and si
Japanese were killed in an avalanche
attempting an expedition near K2.

My stash of Canadian emblazoned
pens, pencils, stickers and pins had just
about run out as I tried to pacify some
rock-throwing kids who viewed any tor-
cigner, especially a moving target like me,
as a prime victim. I soon learned that I was
in the heart of the Kalashnikov cuiture —
so named because of the proliferation of
AK-47s. This Muslini-gun ethos would
make become much more evident as I
neared the borders of India and
Afghanistan.

— Brady Fotheringham is a West
Vancouver writer. This is one ina series of
instalments documenting his trip via bi
through Asin.

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