Distance: 111 miles – Travelling time: 4 hours (including boarder crossing of 1 hour 15 mins) – Temperature: 16 – 26°C

Exiting Kyrgyzstan

Welcome to Uzbekistan!

Another border successfully negotiated: we entered country #4

The morning start was a little challenging with us both having succumbed to something we ate the night before (it definitely wasn’t the pints 11% ABV local beer, I had had Stella but someone else went native!) we set off for the border expecting to have to go through the unload/load of the car as we had at the Chinese border, with the added complication of bringing in a variety of prophylactic prescription medicine which is not allowed in Uzbekistan without permission. To circumvent this we had had scripts issued by a GP in Islamabad before we left and stamped for approval by the Uzbek Embassy, but you just never know. On paper we look like a pair of hypochondriacs with anti-inflammatories, anti-biotics, anti-histamines, etc, just in case . . As it was we arrived at a rather down at heel border post, Murray had shaved, put on his best shirt and cleanest trousers, armed with a superior attitude, Diplomatic passports, a brief case and files of paperwork we were waved through after very little interruption and just a few forms to fill!

While we waited I had to marvel at the sniffer dogs working at the inspection point. They were the first pure bread dogs we had seen in a while, a yellow lab and an Alsatian, both looking superbly fit and healthy and working keenly. They were handled impressively and with obvious care. Thumbs up to the Uzbek dog handlers.

The ubiquitous and rather endearing Lada

Slightly down hearted by the initial state of the roads

Aah! Into the Fergana valley proper. A little like France, with Ladas!

Now really wondering what we had let ourselves in for after several miles of this

Onwards to the Fergana Valley – the land of silk production and ikat weaving. The one sanctioned shopping stop for me. Well, it is the Silk Road after all!

The roads were pretty bumpy but community development in this part of Uzbekistan is markedly more sophisticated than its neighbour and looks not unlike rural northern France in places with houses of painted render and large metal gates enclosing courtyards. The police, clad in a fetching and noticeable teal green, positioned at regular intervals along the roads, are friendly and very agreeable with the wave of a Diplomatic passport and mention of Sir Alex Fergusson!

The Fergana valley opened up immediately into a wide flat basin stretching for hundreds of miles but fringed by various mountain ranges, some just visible. It was easy to imagine the relief of ancient silk route traders as they descended from the harsh mountain areas on to this fertile plain. Of note today is the choice of transport; a dilapidated but somewhat pleasing to see Lada held together with all manner of strings, bolts and tape, or the bright shiny new white Chevrolet cars, almost without exception, apart from the tormenting little Daewoo minivan taxis that sweep and swerve to a halt without notice to pick up people on the road side.

The scenery was less impressive than the mountains but cultivation was extensive with fields and fields of cotton, sunflowers, mulberry and fruit trees and maize, with all the roads lines with poplar trees.

We were stopped at the Hotel Asia in Fergana for the night, and beforehand shopped at the reputed Yodgorlik Silk Factory – an oasis of creativity but calm and sympathetically laid out –  in Margilan for traditional Uzbek ikat fabric.

We met a most delightful man who managed the outfit whom, it transpired, had spent two years at the Royal College of Art, not just learning but imparting his knowledge of the art form of resistance dying and weaving the beautiful silk and cotton fabrics. It was a fascinating process producing wonderful ‘tethered clouds’ (if my translation is any where near close) of patterned fabric. We then took stock in readiness for our push to Tashkent the next day.

Traditional silk ikat weaving

Meticulous handiwork

Appreciating the finery of the fabrics

Result! M was happy really!

The Yodgorlik Silk Factory, Margilan

Archway to Fergana at sunset

A striking Soviet monument to the communist struggle

Entering Fergana at sunset

It turned out that our hotel was a popular wedding venue

Well, why not capitalise on the moment . . why not renew our wedding vows?!

Distance: 117 miles – Cumulative distance since Islamabad: 1324 miles – Travelling time: 1020 – 1430  – Temperature range: 11 – 27°C

Leaving Arslanbob

Setting off after breakfast, and with Murray having a swift rollicking from our host for walking half naked from the bathroom to the bedroom (eek! – he might have been seen by the women of the village) we did the reverse journey back to Osh.

More herds to negotiate

Soviet town signage

Answers on a postcard please if you can name this warrior!

The entrance to Jalalabad – obviously a top backdrop for wedding photos!!

We agreed to miss dropping into Jalalabad, the third largest city but we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see what was going on with a wedding party! We carried on bumping along until by mistake we nearly entered Uzbekistan via a route unauthorised for foreigners. Turning around we were stopped by a policeman and questioned. As none of us spoke the other’s language it was intimated, with some relief, that we would go on our way without reproach or punitive fine!

With a high degree of navigating (I thoroughly recommend the app Maps.me), consulting of guidebooks and failed calls we found our way to the Eco Hotel in Osh in search of a room. With nothing available we were sent a street away to a great B&B run by a Kyrgyz lady with a mouth full of golden teeth and not a word of English! Given that our Kyrgyz wasn’t up to much we resorted to sign language an noises to communicate leading to much hilarity on both sides. It was perfect and we were pre-positioned to reach the correct border at Dostuk Port with Uzbekistan the following morning.

Osh has of note a huge craggy rock rising up in the middle of the city, called Suleiman Too. The holy prophet Mohammed is claimed to have visited here and so it is a place of pilgrimage. Our legs were still feeling the effects of the walk in Arslanbob, plus it was getting dark so we gave the steep walk a miss – thank heavens. The rest of the city, while being 3000 years old has little historic architecture other than shabby decrepit Soviet style buildings.

Having secured the car and taken out what we needed for the night – we had fine tuned this to an art form knowing exactly where everything should be, mostly – we set off to down town Osh to find an eatery. It was Sunday evening, in a former Soviet city, and there was very little open but we found a bar and settled in to a happy evening knowing that the next day we would be heading in a westward direction.

Temperature: chilly in the morning, beautiful  during the day! Altitude: highest point climbed – 2,100 m

With a day off driving we arranged for a guide to take us on a 15 km trek of the area to take in waterfalls, the panorama of the valley and the famed walnut grove, plus a delicious barbecue picnic. What a glorious day. The weather was clear, we were out of the car and had incredible scenery all around us – and it was so right to be out of the city.

The famed ancient walnut groves, tended by the villagers of Arslanbob but owned and controlled by the State

Our guide, Ziad, was a gentle mannered man in his mid twenties and relatively new to guiding, having been a herdsman, but knew the area inside out and gauged our capabilities and set the pace expertly. We chatted the whole day learning about his village and way of life while we helped him learn new English phrases and pretended our knowledge of French was better than it is! – he was keen to learn as much vocabulary and grammar as we could yield.

The view from 2,100m

By the ‘Big Waterfall’

Looking down into the village of Arslanbob

Confidently crossing the mountain stream!

From right to left, our guide Ziad, M, the BBQ cook and his daughter

Looking down into the valley

The ‘Little Waterfall’ 

Six hours of walking saw us back to our guesthouse and reverting to juvenile ways of secreting our stash of beer so we could have a ‘livener’ before another supper of plov. For anyone who has seen the series Ambassadors (a Warren and Mitchell production fabulously accurate in satirising diplomats in ‘Tazbekistan’) it was plov, plov and more plov – all with different names but basically rice with boot leather meat and very, very well cooked veg. We ate the lot!

Walking back up the steep track to our guesthousewe inspected at close quarter the state of the ground which we were to cover in the car the next morning (it also gave us a chance to catch our breath and ease the limbs after our long day’s walk).

Distance: 231 miles – Travelling time: 1110 – 1925 – Temperature range: 4 – 29°C

In the middle distance the Fisherman strides along the river bank under Lenin Peak

Both Murray and I had crashed out in our surprisingly cosy ‘dorm’ – we found out it was actually the bedroom of the three sisters who ran the guest house and they had very kindly given it up to us for night – and woke early to see a magnificent morning with the sun lighting up Lenin Peak, a mountain of 7,134m in the Parmir range on the border between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. It was simply stunning looking across the tundra to see this magnificent sight, but the lure of the ‘red river’ had more impact upon Murray and his fishing rod!

Ainura (far right), her sisters, Jarda the Czech cyclist and M

Ever hopeful . .

The car proved very attractive to a passing herd of cows

After a delightful breakfast with much chat and shared travel advice amoung our fellow guests we set off with a flask of coffee and a determination to fish the ‘red river’, Kyzyl Art – Ainura had filled Murray’s head with fishermen’s tales and so without delay we set off in pursuit of the elusive trout . . . . and found some hours later at a little fish farm on the way to Osh!

The road from Sary Tash is another feast for the eyes, climbing and falling between hills and mountains of incredible colours of reds and pinks. The weather changed dramatically and the skies darkened. While the winds picked up on the high passes, and we had a smattering of rain, we dropped down into Osh and avoided the worst of it.

At regular intervals along the roads leading into and out of Osh, the second largest city in Kyrgyzstan, we came across numerous herdsmen and boys on horseback bringing their flocks of fat tailed sheep and herds of cows and horses down from the hilltop jailoos – high meadows – as the pastures had dried out and they were making ready to stable their animals for winter. At other intervals roadside stalls piled with water melons, squash and pumpkins were for sale adding more colour to the scenes.

The highest point between Sary Tash and Osh, the Taldyk Pass at 3,615m

We nudged our way into Osh and quickly determined there was little there to keep us so we refuelled, threw in a bottle of fuel injector cleaner (fantastic stuff!) and headed off out of Osh aiming for Jalalabat and on to Arslanbob – which looked about an inch away (said the Nav) from Jalalabat!

The road from Osh to Jalalabat was a shocker. For those of you reading this who enter the Dip Enclave in Islamabad imagine 50 km of tarmac surfaced like the inspection point at the barrier to Diplomatic Enclave off Constitutional Avenue – tarmac rucked and ruched by the weight of vehicles on the hottest of days, deeply welted and pot holed. Add to that what became known as a driving style of ‘bumper riders’, cars hovering on your outer side to overtake so close that you can’t see them, and streams of haulage lorries, it made for a hairy four hours of driving. Ancient former soviet trucks belched out thick black fumes which were desperately headache inducing. ‘Are we nearly there, yet’, didn’t come close . . . on and on we went, through the Friday traffic, slowly coursing through some deeply Islamic areas (Uzgen – the men dashing off for Juma prayers and the women and children filling the bazaars and roads) until we headed off up a beautiful valley.

Arriving eventually at Arslanbob at around 1900, a ‘famous’ Kyrgyz tourist spot, we then had to find somewhere to stay. I had used my time wisely while navigating (economising on relaying absolute distances to keep up morale) and read about the accommodation available at Arslanbob (it’s name was suitably distorted throughout the journey). Kyrgyzstan has yet to develop its tourism but it has capitalised on what it calls Community Based Tourism (CBT) – a network of home-stays offering beds for the night in locals’ homes. This little village has a well developed network and a CBT office. Having found the office, and more incredibly the lovely man who ran it wandering in the centre of the village, he set us off to find our room for the night. Rather ominously, the notice in the office showed a very pretty little village house with a large ‘NO ALCOHOL’ sign underneath it. Murray missed this and I thought it best to keep schtum as it was the last room available! (Apparently some previous guests had got drunk and had a punch up and so, as a devout Muslim, the host had banned booze on the premises.)

Our home-stay

Three kilometres and 25 minutes later, in the dark, up steep unmetalled tracks, and with much fuming from us both, we finally found Zahid, the guesthouse owner. He was delightful and gave us a very comfortable if basic room and offered us supper. It was with much relief we piled out of the car and ate plov with an engaging couple who were Dutch medical students back-packing through Central Asia – they declared we were not the usual sort of people they’d met on their travels!

Distance: 209 miles – Travelling Time: 10:10 – 19.15 – Temperature range: 3 – 16°C

The Parmir Mountains bordering Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan

We had now all agreed to operate on Beijing time. Or so we thought! Murray and I were up early in readiness for a ‘border day’ knowing that exporting the car out of China would take some time and we wanted to be at the Chinese customs office before it closed for the three hour lunch break. Having arranged to meet and set off shortly after 0800 there was no sign of David and it was still pitch-black outside, and rather miserably, pouring with raining. This put pay to our plan to visit Shipton’s Arch, a magnificent natural rock arch as tall at the Empire State Building an only known to the outside world since 2000, on route to the border at Irkeshtam.

The export procedure was to be as challenging as the import procedure but we were ready for anything – except for our guiding driver taking extra time to find and fill his car with LPG just as we arrived at the port. Somewhat frustratingly this squeezed our time and we had 45 minutes to carry out the export checks and paperwork. David had left us in Kashgar and handed us over to a gentle young Uyghur to see us through to the border at Irkeshtam. With Murray’s persuasive manner and the guide’s translation, combined with the desire of the mostly charming customs and emigration officials desires to knock off for lunch, we made it through ten minutes after the official closing time. Phew!

Snaking up to the border

Queues of lorries we cheekily jumped!

Still with another 160km to go through bleak coal mining lands to get to the actual border with Kyrgyzstan our anxiety that we might yet be held up at the further two checkpoints had not abated. We had our passports scanned yet again ‘for our safety’, our Uyghur driver had to be granted permission to see us through to the border and we were trying to beat the queue of lorries to the border crossing so that we could get through and into Kyrgyzstan before the light began to fade. All this took time.

In actuality we were allowed to jump ahead of the lorries and had 15 minutes to spare before the border reopened after the ubiquitous three-hour lunch break. Now we had to work our way through the Kyrgyz customs procedure. With the requisite paperwork handed over we said goodbye to our guide and his driver and launched unaccompanied into a new regime.

The procedure was much less daunting and the officials somewhat more relaxed although officious. Our diplomatic passports helped ease the transition and within 45 minutes we were allowed to cross into Kyrgyzstan – although our passports has been caught up with a group of German tourists’ and we had to chase them down to retrieve them at the penultimate immigration checkpoint!

Then we were off and away. It was very liberating to be free of the bureaucracy and the ever watchful eye of the State. The scenery changed immediately. Great rolling hills of tundra bordered by the Pamir Mountains. The air was fresh and this was big country. We climbed high up on to the Parmir Highway on to pretty good tarmac-ed roads with very little if any traffic. There was the occasional herder on horseback and the odd ancient chugging former Soviet lorry. Other than that we had the road pretty much to ourselves – and the bus of German tourists.

We made it to Sary Tash and then had to work out how to find accommodation for the night. Sary Tash is a small settlement of a scattering of about 80 dwellings in view of the Parmirs. It is utterlt remote. Kyrgyzstan has no hotels in the rural areas but operates community based tourism (CBT) in the form of registered guest houses. By utter chance while looking for someone that David had recommended (who was away at a wedding) we found Ainura, a beautiful lady who spoke superb English and just so who happened to have room for us and could offer us dinner. Joy!

With the arrangements made we decided to head back out of the village for half an hour to have tea on a hill top as the sun set. It was heavenly, with the rolling hills and views of the snow covered mountains bordering Tajikistan.

We headed back and found Guest House Muras, a simple yet welcoming newly built yellow house, warm and bright and immaculate, run by Ainura and her two sisters. It was perfect. We had a spacious room, hot and cold running Wifi and great company in the form of other guests at supper; Jarda a Czech cyclist who’s partner had fallen foul of some bad plov and remained in Dushanbe, and Paul who ran an adventure travel agent from Gloucestershire with his partnering agent from Bishkek, the capital.

We all settled down after supper to fulfil our Internet needs. A bit of a sad indictment of our time but we’d had great chats and we all wanted to let our loved ones know we were safe and sound in this rather remote and unknown part of the modern world.

Temperature: 32°C

Kashgar variously works on local time, which is two hours ahead of Pakistan, or on Beijing time, which is three hours ahead. This leads to some confusion and is somewhat uncharacteristic of the Chinese way. Having arranged to meet David, our delightful State registered guide (and fixer), at 1000 we both overslept. We set off at a leisurely 1100 after a sampling some interesting local dishes for breakfast and went to explore the ancient city of Kashgar, known as the Pearl of the Silk Route, and sited at the very centre of the route.

Ancient tiles of the Mausoleum of Abakh Hoja

Ahh!

Beautifully restored decorations of the Juma Mosque

Our first stop was the tomb of the Fragrant Imperial Concubine and a mausoleum of the Sufi saint, Abakh Hoja, and five generations of his family. From there we went on to the largest and oldest mosque in China. We were taken aback at how relatively small this was compared to the average mosque we were used to seeing in Pakistan. It was also covered in Chinese flags and CCTV, a staunch reminder that the State prevails. From there we toured the ancient walled city and wandered within its streets sampling freshly baked pasty-like snacks filled with a delicious mutton and herb mixture, warm breads baked with sesame and poppy seeds and ate the sweetest green figs. The streets were lined with craft goods, many in the form of local traditional Uyghur hats for men and women, and many goods made in Pakistan; a reminder that the modern day Silk Route is very much in existence with goods from all over the world on sale.

Copper work

An old Uyghur house

Ladies selling yoghurt

The oldest tea house in Kashgar

One very noticeable feature of the region is the overriding presence of the police. Every street is patrolled by a riot van with its siren continuously blaring and young police men and women at almost every street and alley intersection. They are generally mild mannered and appeared under utilised but they are a mark of the fear of an Islamic uprising and there to suppress any intent.

For us as visiting Westerners we felt at ease with the environment and the people, notwithstanding the police presence. On the surface the locals seem to be content and live easily side by side but one can’t help but thing that for the Uyghurs, who have to have their passes checked when they leave and enter the street in which they live, and to obtain passes to travel from one district to another or to buy fuel, there might just be some degree of repressed resentment.

Our day ended at a Chinese restaurant eating specially prepared Beijing duck and heaps of fantastically flavoured vegetables. Earlier in the day I had noticed some Chinese wines on sale. David very kindly bought an excellent bottle of ‘dry red wine’ for us to try, made to the east of Kashgar near Turpan. It really was very good!

Distance: 188 miles – Travelling time: 1800 – 0010 – Temperature range: 6 – 20°C

Staying in the hotel, with electricity and hot water but no heating, in four layers of clothing under my duvet, Murray went with David to get the car scanned back at the customs port and waited for more documents to allow us to import the car and continue our drive.

David working very hard to get our papers

The gates to freedom! If only they would open

We had a late but very delicious lunch in a Uyghur restaurant having politely eschewed the breakfast on offer at our hotel – beyond description and the alternative being a bag full of E numbers. The Uyghurs are a sect of Islam, many of Tajiki origin, and a body of people who have been allowed to govern autonomously at local level in the Xinjiang province. However, the Han Chinese from central government have stamped down hard on these people to prevent terrorism in the name of Islam. The Uyghur women dress uniquely, many in red wool jackets and knee length flared skirts, all with pillbox hats and some with sheer veils over their hats.

Two faces of Chinese nutrition – the healthy and the not so healthy!!

Killing time we wandered along one of the main streets. Lined with basic and slightly shabby shops and eateries I was drawn to a small stall selling various plant products; varieties of maca root, goji berries and chrysanthemum flowers all to make decoctions to treat an array of ailments or to enhance one’s vitality. We sampled chrysanthemum tea (good for reducing blood pressure) while David helped the café owner to make traditional dumplings!

A panorama mural of the tale of a Han Chinese princess overcome by Apollo on her way to marry a Persian king. Tashkurgan translates as Stone Fortress of which there is a 2000 year old ruin.

After much hanging around David eventually got the paperwork and approval for us to import our car after numerous calls to customs offices in Kashgar and Urumqi and so at 1800 we were ready to leave Tashkurgan. There were moments when we thought we would spend another night in the shadow of the Parmir Mountains but with a degree of elation we were able to head out, towards Karakol Lake continuing on the KKH. Progress was slow, with many checkpoints, and our lead driver in the car ahead was very erratic with his driving speed, somewhat frustratingly.

Wetlands on the edge of Tashkurgan

Targharma plateau at the foot of Muztag Peak

A bemused policeman

The red roofs of the settled nomads, homes paid for by the Chinese State

Entering the gorge of the Tiger’s Mouth

On passing the Tajik boarder our lead car pulled in abruptly without warning, to pick up two labourers looking for a lift to Kashgar. Having narrowly avoided bumping into our lead car we carried on to Karakol as the sun was setting, some two hours drive from Tashkurgan. We stopped and our guide thought we might be able to spend the night in a yurt. I thought there might be some touristic yurts on the banks but it seems the only option would be to stay with a true local nomadic family. Sadly they are now forbidden to allow foreigners to stay. We took in the beautiful scenery and the fading light on the surrounding mountains and then pressed on to Kashgar.

Bactrian camels crossing!

The last yurt at Lake Karakol (Xinjiang, others had dismantled with winter approaching

A gruelling drive lay ahead. What we thought would take two more hours actually took four. We navigated past more stunning lakes, the temperature rapidly dropping, and then descended for 26km into the gorge of the Tiger’s Mouth! The road was great for a while and then we entered a section of road devastated by landslides and bumped our way through clouds of dust with endless, massive lorries for two and half hours – not fun. By this time it was dark and spirits were low. After an interminable time we emerged from the countryside and into Kashgar with its multicoloured neon (actually LED) lights. Another half an hour drive around the city limits and we were deposited at the five star ‘Sky Bridge’ Hotel. Having checked in just after midnight we slumped in our room on the 15^th floor, handed over a week’s worth of washing to a very efficient Chinese lady and devoured the army ration packs of chilli tuna pasta and a very decent bottle of Bordeaux we’d had stashed in the car – bliss!

Distance: 142 miles – Travelling time: 2 hours 15 minutes + 2 hours – Temperature range: 12 -21°C

Having spent the night at the basic but passable Embassy Motel  – no electricity nor hot water but a comfy bed with the ubiquitous garish fleece blankets (thankfully new and not smelling of goat!) – past the dry port and along an improbable dirt track clinging to the cliff edge. We went in good spirits and optimism to the customs and immigration office, with armfuls of paperwork impressively collated by Murray, to get the necessary documents to exit Pakistan with our vehicle. The promised half-hour to process our paperwork took 3 hours and rather stretched patient pleasantries were passed with an array of customs officials of varying importance. The most senior, the Deputy Collector of Customs, an initially stern bearded Pathan – an erudite and educated man from the bad lands of Dera Ismail Khan, on the border of South Waziristan – proved to be engaging and very hospitable and not a little embarrassed at the length of time the whole procedure took (the Internet was down and satellite connections to the authorising body in Karachi were intermittent).

Filling the car at Sost, the last fuelling point before China

Our salubrious lodgings

Testing the satellite phone before going off grid – or so we thought!

The early morning view from our motel. Half on hour of yoga on the roof top set us up for the day ahead – no health and safety here!

Relations at Customs warmed to a point of receiving the honoured Customs plaque

At the dry port of Sost, 40% owned by China

We waited for the export agent to finally produce a document sufficient to allow us to drive away from Pakistan. We set off up the Khunjerab Pass and into the Khunjerab National Park – luckily we had just enough Pakistani rupees left to pay the foreigners’ fee to enter (800 PRp per person) and to allow us to continue to the border with China – one cost we hadn’t foreseen. We drove for another breath taking hour to get to the Chinese border.

Rising higher into the mountains

What our driving instructor might call ‘a slow moving heavy’!

A small interruption on the highway

With one last Pakistani check point at Dih we cruised higher and higher until we reached China. Saying farewell to the last Pakistani officials – and taking a call from the ISI whom it appears had been tracking us all the way – we crossed through the border and into China. Goodbye Pakistan, an incredible land of beauty, eyesores, genuine hospitality and occasional hostility – and not least adieu to PIA!!!

Then we crossed into China at the Khunjerab Pass – 15,396 ft – the highest border crossing in the world! Very exciting . . . right up until we got to the immigration and customs check point. We waited for 3 hours in the car without being told what we were waiting for. It was chilly, we weren’t allowed out of the car and the young border guards kept a very close eye on us – but with a smile so it wasn’t intimidating, just befuddling. The effect of the altitude started to kick in after while, probably not helped by low blood sugar and not keeping properly hydrated. At 4,655 meters headaches can kick in at the temples and one’s breathing can become quite shallow – in the customs post a bank of oxygen masks on tap for flaky travellers were visible but not deployed.

Last Pakistani checkpoint

The Khunjerab Pass into China – what was to follow was not for the faint hearted.

Eventually at 8.45pm we were made to take EVERYTHING (and we have a LOT of stuff) out of the car and to put it through a scanner then the car went through a massive scanner (and fried the iTrip; our means of listening to music from the iPod – thank you Cherubs for our fantastic playlist!) We then had to put everything back in double quick time as they closed at 9pm. Crazy – but helped by three lovely Pakistani lorry drivers. Murray’s passport was held and he was told he would get it back at the next checkpoint, which was slightly disconcerting.

We were feeling pretty miserable by then and it was dark and we were hungry (our first rule of not driving in the dark was about to be broken and we were daft not to have cooked up something from our rations during the 3 hour wait). We were then made to drive in a convoy of lorries for 2 hours to get to another immigration check point at Tashkurgan. Interesting to note that the entire route through the Wakhan corridor to Tashkurgan is lined with barbed wire and covered by CCTV for the full length of the route. We were at the back of the convoy so Murray took the initiative to overtake and be right behind the lead car so we weren’t covered in dust from the lorries the whole way. Eventually in Tashkurgan we followed the car all the way. . . . to a hotel – it wasn’t the lead car!!! Oh my goodness. It was midnight, all the signs were in Chinese and we had no idea where to go and Murray’s passport was somewhere else with a Chinese official. Eek!

Amazingly we met a Pakistani on a motorbike who showed us where to go. On it went, more checks, more queues, the car was disinfected and we then went to the passport check (just like at the airport), where Murray’s passport miraculously reappeared, to find our visas weren’t correct. Argh!!!! Horrendous. Fortunately by this stage we had met our Chinese guide, David of Xinjiang Nav International Travel, and he used our Diplomatic passports to get us through. What a day! There’s more but I think that’s enough for now to give you a flavour of how it’s been. Murray was super cool and didn’t get cross once. He was amazing. I remained suitably quiet.

Distance: 67 miles – Travelling time: 2 hours 20 minutes

The Baltit Fort, Karimabad, Hunza

A leisurely day ahead in terms of driving, our target was to get to the customs post of Sost, on the banks of the Khunjerab River, late in the afternoon to be ready to clear customs and immigration and get the papers to export the car out of Pakistan first thing the following morning so that we would have plenty of time to clear through Chinese customs; a two step process with a 160km drive between two immigration posts once in China.

We woke to a beautiful day of clear blue skies and whilst having breakfast we caught a glimpse of the top of Rakaposhi, at last, through a window in the clouds shrouding the mountain. The views were spectacular all around. From the Eagles Nest (Robin – N.B. no apostrophes are used here!), after a very challenging climb in the car up steep narrow tracks (both car and Murray did extremely well!), to the Altit Fort, the surrounding scenery is astounding. It is easy to imagine the people of Hunza throughout history protecting their lands from the vantage points of their forts and hilltops. Truly the terrain the Great Game.

Rakaposki Mountain, the summit could just be seen

The Hunza Valley

The clear blue waters of the River Hunza

Really? How very ‘Pakistan’!

A view of the Lady’s Finger

Views across the Hunza Valley

The Baltit Fort, founded in the 13th century AD

Locally made crafts

The Altit Fort from above

The renovated tower of the Altit Fort, originally built in 1548

Looking down into the Altit Village

Local Hunza women

Departing Karimabad we stopped briefly at Haldeikis, the Hunza Sacred Rocks, to see the 7^th century rock carvings of ibex and men of horse back – I was slightly skeptical as there were also smatterings of “Ali woz ‘ere” inscribed next to the rudimentary ibex!

The drive to Sost is possibly the most beautiful and stunning road I have ever driven. The mountains of the Karakorams are various and mighty and the light ever changing, with a hint of autumn the trees are just turning colour and the water in the rivers a beautiful but turbid turquoise blue. The road surface was excellent and we made good progress up the KKH to the surreal Attabad lake with exquisite turquoise waters, through 8km of tunnel (all unlit and some with workmen – completely in the dark! Terrifying to come across at close range, without notice) and on past the Passu and Batura glaciers to arrive in the mid afternoon at Sost.

Attabad Lake

Old boats on Attabad Lake

Entering the first of the 5 tunnels taking us through 8km of mountain

The breath taking conical Passu towers

Cruising!

Towards Passu

Distance: 200 miles – Travelling time: 0630 – 1710 – Temperature range: 6 – 31°C

A village clinging to the hillside – it was unusual to see coloured walls

Setting off from our riverside lodgings at 0630 we headed back up the valley with a degree of thrill and some trepidation towards the climb up to Babusor. The views were breath taking in the early morning, if chilled, sun. Murray drove the car very skillfully up the endlessly winding and climbing pass until we reached the police check point marking the end of the KPK and the start of Gilgit Baltistan (GB) – the true Northern Areas and the start of the Karakorum mountain range.

Early morning in Naran Valley

Breath taking views

Murray and our trusty chariot!

You can just make out an old settlement made of stone in the hillside

By chance we stopped next to this ‘mile’ stone: 960km to Kashi (Kashgar)

Taken while still trying to catch a fish!

At the Babusor Pass checkpoint we were tersely instructed by the guards to pull over and a short interrogation began. Our papers were checked, and re-checked, and a book was dutifully filled out with our details before we were instructed to sit down and drink truly filthy sweet chai and to eat fried chapattis, again it was best not to think too much about it! The police were incredibly hospitable and kind. Thanks to Murray’s great forethought we were carrying booklets from the British High Commission ‘Shared History, Shared Future; 70 years of Pakistan and UK relations’ – filled with photos and received with ‘aahhhs’. Inspired!

Murray using his charms to placate less than friendly guards. Result: an accompanied breakfast!

Descending the Babusor Pass with some relief after our steep and isolated ascent we entered Gilgit Baltistan. The landscape changed immediately with clusters of houses clinging to cliff faces, red rooftops and patches of beautiful terracing fed by clever irrigation channels. The men here wear the traditional pakol hat (rather like a pancake with a rolled rim), now much in evidence. We wound our way down through the hairpin bends on pretty good road surfaces until we reached the Chilas intersection with the KKH. After a short stop at the check point we were issued with passes from the GB police to see us through all the check points until the boarder crossing at Dih, deep in the Khunjerab National Park.

Joining the KKH was a rude awakening! With little metalled road it was a slow and white knuckle inducing ride throughout, negotiating locals driving at relative speed and jingly trucks often at pinch points all the while with a sheer drop into the mighty Indus River far below – and not much of a crash barrier for protection. Halfway between Chilas and Gilgit we crossed the Indus over a new bridge and here the road surface improved immeasurably and we were able to make good progress, sighting the mountain Nanga Parbat behind us and the convergence of the Himalayas, the Karakorum and Hindu Kush ranges, to the point where we branched off, still on the KKH, towards Hunza up the Nagar Valley.

At the confluence of the rivers Gilgit and Indus where the mountain ranges collide

The engineering of the KKH is a remarkable feat of human engineering pitted against the forces of nature. The road follows the Hunza valley in a deep gorge faced by the Hindu Kush mountains to the left and the Karakorum range to the right. Following ancient trails the Chinese began to build the road in the 1960s and 1970s and since then with much human sacrifice, together with the Frontier Works Organisation of Pakistan, and now with Chinese funding the Chinese Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), the road is continuously repaired and rebuilt from the frequent landslides and the metalling of the road has continued all the way to the border with China.

The memorial to the Chinese workers who perished building the Karakorum Highway

We made it to Karimabad in the Hunza district within two hours from Gilgit, having stopped in the village of Ghulmet to have lunch at the Rakaposhi viewing point where we revisited what was our temporary accommodation during the landslides in 2015. This time the weather was beautiful, but a sighting of the summit of Rakaposhi still eluded us! By sheer chance we met Ali, the guide who, with his family, was so kind and hospitable and put us up when we were stuck in the landslides during our previous visit in 2016.

Onwards to Karimabad and to the Serena Hotel for the night.

Murray and Ali at the Rakaposhi viewing point