Once a day, a lonely blue bus leaves Kashgar in China and travels south over the Kunjerab Pass to Sost in Northern Pakistan, but for the last three days that bus has remained idle. By sheer co-incidence or perhaps just rotten bad luck, we have been waiting three days in Kashgar for its departure. Each morning a phone call to the international depot has yielded frustrating results. It’s reluctance to move is based on a shortage of passengers, but today that will change.
It’s been an anxious and uncertain delay as we only have a few days left to enter Pakistan and the journey south takes two. Anticipated feelings of apprehension are dissolved. Today I feel nothing but a sense of calm. Maybe it’s because Greg and I have deliberated for weeks over Pakistan since the distressing murder of the climbers near Nanga Parbit took place. Maybe it’s because we have pushed so hard to get here that we simply can’t turn back now; we can’t break the peel. Whatever it is, I feel committed to cross this border and continue our journey.
The bus is full of joyful Pakistani’s. A mixture of students who’ve been studying medicine and businessmen returning home after trading in Kashgar. As always they shower their foreign guests with a generous dose of kindness and friendly curiosity.
I watch Kashgar fade into open fields with confidant satisfaction. Our big push that started 10 weeks ago in Kenya is almost over. The phone calls, the emails, the disappointments, the visas and hold ups all seem so trivial. Like pain forgotten all that is left is victory, nothing can stop us now.
Within a few hours we are among giants. They gather close to the road. Their huge rocky shoulders locked together. Their heads white with snow, lean over and peer down at our little bus from impossible heights. We Pass through the first of the Chinese checkpoints at Ghez and continue south to Tashkurgan. The steep stone walls retreat after another hour to reveal open pastures and distant mountains. The plains are scattered with yurts, yaks and large Asian camels. Long sandy hair hangs from their neck and shoulders.
The scenery is stunning, but up ahead it’s about to get better. The massive form of Muztagh Ata appears large in our windscreen. As we rise over a crest, its sheer size and height above the plains is revealed. A thick blanket of shiny ice lies ruffled across its flanks. Shadows from clouds rise and fall over its contours. A large lake fed by melting snow lies curled up by its base. Having made this same trip four years ago, I am still taken by surprise as to just how magnificent this land is.
Five hours after leaving Kashgar we stop in Tashkurgan for the night. We are now just over 3400m above sea level. Our bus tired from the journey sighs, hisses and opens the front door outside the Traffic Hotel. I ask its driver what time it will leave tomorrow. He holds up 10 fingers which I take to mean 10am Beijing time.
Beijing time? Nods yes.
The Traffic hotel is experiencing a sudden influx of guests but the price and general disinterest of the manager has the Pakistani’s looking for other options. A handsome man in his mid-50’s wearing an unmistakable black wig leads them and Greg away down the road. Thirty minutes later Greg returns but is keen to at least have a look inside for comparative purposes. The disinterested manager seems more attentive and shows us a room for 150 RNB or around 25 USD which is only 5 USD more and much closer to our sleeping bus… so we take it.
The next morning despite triple checking with its driver, our bus decides to leave 15 minutes early. Greg is paying the bill when I notice it driving out of the hotel compound. I run down the road yelling and waving my hands eventually bringing it to a stop. Four years ago the same thing happened and despite being forewarned it happens again. The driver and the hotel staff seem indifferent. The bus was on its way to Chinese immigration, 2km south of town where it will be stopped for at least an hour, while we all go through immigration. The Pakistani’s are waiting at the building when we arrive. This morning the number of passengers wanting to cross the pass has swollen. The total of which is too great to fit inside the bus. We are safe as we have confirmed tickets but a battle for the remaining seats is anticipated.
The processing through immigration is carried out with discipline and all the precision of an Olympic opening ceremony. The soldiers have us form 2 lines outside the bus and then enquire about WC. Volunteers are marched in a line. A low ranking solider ensures all our arms are swinging in unison, but I don’t complain as I recall the fiasco at the Uzbek border 2 weeks ago.
Two hours into the journey and my contemplative daydreaming is abruptly broken by the reluctance of our bus to move. We come to a grinding halt. It would seem that once again the travel gods have cursed us. I think back to Sudan, Kenya, Ethiopia, and Egypt and lose count. The art of patience is surely tested on such a journey. Greg sees this as an opportunity to take some photos and is almost the first one off the bus. He needn’t rush as he’s going to be taking more photos than he ever imagined.
It is almost certain that if a problem can’t be fixed in the first 30 minutes then it may never be fixed at all. Normally issues are resolved quickly, so after waiting for more than an hour, I begin to despair.
A few hours later and the sun is now starting to creep in through the right hand side of the bus. The flimsy curtains are no match for its fury. Our water supplies are dwindling and being stuck so high above sea level without acclimatisation has many suffering from fatigue and headache.
As always the local people are prepared for any eventuality and they start to cut open delicious water melon to share amongst the passengers. We sit on the ground devouring the juicy pieces whilst getting to know our new found friends better. I observe (as everyone sits and chats) what this picture might be like if I were at home. I certainly don’t think that people would be as well prepared and I doubt that they’d share what little they have in such a community spirited way.
The day alternates between lying in my seat and going outside for short walks. Sometimes I even peer under the bus in the hopes I will see productive activity. Despite the surrounding beauty I am getting bored. The driver has finally after many hours downed his tools and pronounced the bus dead. The sun is starting to get low and I put my fleece back on and go inside the bus. I manage an afternoon nap and resign myself to a very long wait.
I am surprised at just how relaxed I still am as the ninth hour approaches. But one of the group members crack. There is much shouting in Urdu. Greg and I exchange quizzical looks. It appears that one of the male passengers has had enough! He wants to know how much longer we’re expected to wait for a new bus. Based on the heated exchange and aggressive body language between himself and the Chinese solider it appears that the news is not what the gentleman wishes to hear.
He turns, snaps his heals, picks up his suitcase and begins to walk along the highway. Clearly he has decided that waiting nearly ten hours is more than enough time to resolve the issue and that at this rate he would be better off walking to Sost. I tend to agree! People of this region are very expressive. You don’t need to speak Urdu to know when there is a problem or indeed not.
The male passenger’s work together to persuade the man that maybe walking isn’t such a good idea. Back rubbing and soothing tones are administered bringing the man down from the metaphoric building that he’s about to jump from. The clenched teeth loosen and his responses become more cordial. He nods his head and flicks his wrist, which I take to mean he has been convinced for the moment to stay. No one seems to mind the dummy spit. Personally I have enjoyed the performance, it has certainly passed some time.
After over 12 hours of sitting, waiting and occasionally chewing on water melon, we are transferred to a new bus and once again on the move. A short while later we pass through the final Chinese checkpoint. A line of trucks is always a sign you are close to the border. The light is fading fast and the first stars are appearing. We pass under the Arch that separates China from Pakistan; the highest border crossing in the world at just under 5000m.
Day dreaming has been replaced with star gazing. I stare out the window marvelling at the majesty of the mountains that cradle the Karakorum Highway. I imagine what it must have been like when it was the old Silk Road; men of another time leading their camels, guided by the brilliant night sky. We descend quickly down a series of switch backs into warmer winds and large green trees. The sky is now a slither of stars squeezed between towering cliffs.
An hour after crossing the pass, we arrive at the dimly lit immigration post of Sost. Everyone scrambles of the bus to be first, it is nearly midnight. Luckily for me as a woman, I am allowed to go to the front of the queue, a convenient perk in this male dominated society. Even if there is a queue of men 100 deep, it doesn’t matter to the front you go. The man looks up at me and smiles “First Time in Pakistan?” “No, this is my second time. I love Pakistan” I respond “You are Welcome” he grins and my passport is stamped. If only all border crossings were such a pleasure. Even after a long day I feel a wave of exhilaration to be here……..
Sost has several hotels but locating them in complete darkness is not so easy. We follow close behind our fellow passengers and take a room for 400 PKR. Before retiring it is agreed that we will leave the next morning at 5am. The Hotel has basic rooms and a shower that is fed with glacial cold water. Despite fatigue I find it hard to sleep. I keep thinking that we’ll somehow sleep in and miss our onward connections. I decide to get up and have a cold shower to jump start me into action. I console myself with the promise of endless sleep when I get to Gilgit.
Getting to Gilgit will not be as easy as it once was. In 2010 a major landslide blocked the valley causing a huge lake to form and severing the Karakorum Highway. From Sost to the start of the lake is about 2 hours and we pay a fee of 200 PKR each for a seat in a shared minivan. Upon reaching the lake it’s an enjoyable hour long ride across the still turquoise waters. Two local ladies who are part of the bus group share apricots with me. The boat carries well over 50 passengers and 1 motorbike. The fee for crossing is 100 PKR each.
As we approach the head of the lake the full drama of the landslide is revealed. On the left hand side of the gorge high above the waters, Chinese and Pakistani crews are constructing a road and tunnel to eventually reconnect the KKH. Taking heavy bags off the boat is not easy but there are many willing men offering help. From the lake we trek up a small hill to a group of jeeps eagerly awaiting our arrival. We squeeze 6 people into each jeep and pay 125 PKR for the short hour long trip to Hunza. Signs of tectonic trauma are visible as far as the eye can see. Dramatic mud coloured cliffs and mountains protect peaks that still have snow atop. Lush green villages cling to the base showcasing the enormity of this natural phenomenon, it truly taxes the superlatives.
The road has been seriously upgraded since our last visit thanks to the partnership between China and Pakistan. It’s an engineering marvel how human labour has managed to make what was once a long and slow journey become smoother as well as shaving off a great deal of time. We make the final transfer from jeep to Minivan in Hunza and pay a further 225 PKR per seat. The journey from Hunza to Gilgit is covered in 2 short hours. In total the entire trip from Sost has cost 650 PKR or about $6.50 USD.
We pass under the “Welcome to Gilgit “sign in record time pulling into The Madina 2 hotel run by the perennial Mr Yacqoob. I feel instantly at home. It is reminiscent of an English country garden belonging in the pages of an Agatha Christie novel. The only thing that gives the gardens location away are the huge brown mountains surrounding us.
I sip my milky chai and breathe a sigh of relief. We’ve made it!