SILK ROAD

Karakoram Highway - Xinjiang

4 - 22 Sep 97

Me at Karakul Lake (3300m), a rest stop along the highway in Xinjiang.
Background is one of the Pamir giants, 7546m high Muztagata (Ice Mountain Father).

I must be totally insane from the addiction to travel. This was my 5th trip within a time span of one year. The decision to go was financially irrational and impulsive. It was not exactly the intention to ease the shutterbug itch as photographs of the Karakoram Highway (KKH) hardly inspired me at all. Simply, there was a desire to be up in the mountains, breathing in the cold fresh air and flirting with altitude sickness at the 4730m high Khunjerab Pass.

We had a group of 8 - 4 guys and 4 ladies. Beside the married couple - Kong and Sau Wai, the rest were all single individuals and strangers to one another. However, we got acquainted quickly. Whether we liked it or not, we had to live with one another for the next 18 days

On the plane, we realised that there was another group of about 20 Singaporeans going on the same trip and under the same tour agency as ours. Unlike us, they would not be going into China and had to make an about turn once they reached the China - Pakistan border.

It was only days later that I found out that the group was from the SDU (Social Development Unit). The unit was set up by the Singapore government in an effort to pair up graduate couples. Apparently, these single graduates had spent too much time with their books and careers that they lacked the social skills to find themselves a lifetime partner. In its early days, members were teased and perceived as Single, Desperate and Ugly.

Initially, I didn't realised that a friend of mine was actually with the SDU group. I stared at the stranger’s young-looking face as Victoria came forward to say hello. To my embarrassment, it was after some hard gazing before I could recall that we were friends from the same faculty in the university. We had not seen each other for 5 years. Age must be eroding my memory away!

Our Pakistani guide Nazeem revealing part of his hairy chest.

Our guide, Nazeem, was a handsome young man with a hairy chest that the girls were crazy over with. Perhaps, the tour agency had intentionally assigned him to our group instead of the SDU group. It would be devastating for the SDU guys had Nazeem been their tour guide. Nonetheless, great damage had already been inflicted as Nazeem still turned out to be the star attraction among the ladies despite efforts to separate the 2 groups. The cute little Soo Pang from my group and I… or rather my huge prominent white L lens, were also popular with the girls. I bet they had not heard of the rumour that photographers used big lenses as a means of self-fulfillment to compensate for either their impotence or tiny organs.

At Takht-I-Bahi near Swat.

We began our KKH journey on the third day. We visited some archaeological sites in Taxila. It was evident from the many sites and stone carvings that Buddhism had once flourished in this Islamic country. I was hardly interested in archaeology. Most of the time, my eyes were actively searching for photogenic scenes and subjects rather than those rocks and carvings.

We followed the Indus River and travelled upstream northwards. After Besham, we started to enter the mountainous desert area in Chilas. The greenery started to give way to bare, brown and grayish rocky mountains. The sight could be rather dull with the monotone color of the gray river, mountains and sky.

Our van...

...and our driver packing our luggage.

My perception of the KKH as a highway was supposed to be a long stretch of straight road in good condition. However, it turned out to be winding and narrow roads sandwiched between huge mountains. We caught sight of two accidents of vehicles running off the highway into the river below. To escalate our fear of this dangerous highway, we realised that at some point in time, our driver was actually dozing off while driving! Certain parts of the highway were in rough and rocky conditions due to frequent landslides. Bulldozers were on the standby in those landslide-prone area. We were lucky that there was no encounter of any serious holdup due to road blockages from landslides.

At Nazeem's house in Gilgit.

In Gilgit, we had the honour to be invited to Nazeem's house after we had jokingly insisted to pay his family a visit. This was the first time he was inviting his clients over and we met his mom, grandma and sister. His servant boy served us food prepared by his mom. And from the size and furnishings of his house, we reckoned that he must come from a well-to-do family.

There was a sudden burst of greenery amid the grayish landscape. Signboards and graffiti on the rocks along the highway indicated that we were now approaching Hunza. This is the hometown of my guide, Nazeem. We later realised that he was actually from the ‘royal blood’ whose forefathers had great power in Hunza.

As we drove into the oasis, I saw many girls along the road in their school uniform. Education rate among the children was as high as 90%. And when faced with only one choice, the parents would send the girls rather than the boys to school. They felt that the boys could always take care of themselves while the girls needed the education to survive. The high literacy rate was probably one of the main reasons for the extremely low crime rate in Hunza.

It was claimed that Hunza people had very long lives, easily exceeding 100 years old. I had neither met nor seen any of these centurions during my trip. However, their exact ages were dubious as they had no proper record of their birth date. The wrinkles on their faces were more likely to be formed by the merciless climate rather than from the age of time.

Tricia at Hopar Galcier

"Don’t go down! It is gonna be very steep!" Marie was screaming at the top of her voice to discourage her SDU babies from descending down the almost vertical trail down to the glacier. However, some of the guys had already started venturing down the glacier some hundred feet below.

We were now at the Hopar Glacier after a 2-hour jeep drive. Under the hot midday sun, the valley was more like a burning desert to me. The ice-capped mountain was still high above the sky and ice was the last thing I expected to see down at the valley below. The sheer descent and Marie’s screaming had indeed intimidated many from going down.

Victoria clinging onto Shafi.

From my group, only Soo Pang and myself had the stupidity to risk the embarrassment and broken cameras from slipping down the loose sandy trek to see that piece of gray ice that was no different from the other rocks. As we were going down, to the disgrace of all males, some guys crawled on all fours even with assistance from the local kids. Going up was much easier in terms of balancing but a sheer torture to the lungs, especially at the oxygen thin altitude. Poor Shafi, the SDU guide, had to drag Victoria all the way up. She was literally clinging and hanging onto his back! (I'm subjecting myself to a premature and tragic death!)

We happened to wander into an all-girls school in Gulmit during their recess. The girls rushed out to greet the strangers with a mix of excitement and shyness. They posed shyly but readily for the camera. Whenever we entered or left their classrooms, the whole class would stand up straight to pay respect to strangers like us.

A Caucasian looking girl in her school uniform.

It was a pity that I had no pictures of any Hunza woman in their colourfully beaded headdress, except those young girls. Several times, I had sent the women running away whenever I lifted up my camera to aim. This happened even though I was some distance away and using a long lens for coverage.

I shouted across to the bearded young man in English for direction to the suspension bridge after Carol and myself were lost from the group. We had been busy taking pictures in the maze of the stone houses and were separated from the rest after several turns. Earlier, I had approached a few locals for direction but none seemed to understand English. The man looked like a Caucasian tourist to me and I thought that he might have some idea. To my surprise, he was actually a local. In fact, one might be bewildered to find that many of the Hunza people had features of Caucasians instead of Asians. It was believed that the Hunza people were actually the descendants of those lost soldiers from Alexandra the Great's army.

Nazeem’s uncle, whom the girls likened his face with a bulldog’s, was the owner of the beautiful Marco Polo Inn in Gulmit. Again, we had the rare opportunity to be invited to his house just behind the guesthouse. He was probably self sufficient with his supply of fruits as he grew all sort - apples, peaches, prunes and walnuts. Some of us immediately transformed into monkeys, going around plucking fruits as soon as he extended his generosity that we were free to do so.

"The water is damn cold man!" Johnny came running out from the bathroom while we were in Gulmit.

"You scared of cold is it? Bathe cold water shiok man! Don’t trouble the owner to on the heater lah!" I replied without looking up while cleaning my lenses.

Johnny disappeared in to the bathroom and I could hear him having his shower.

"The water is iceeeeeeeey cold!" Johnny reappeared and said in a trembling voice as he placed his hand on mine. For a moment, I thought it was an ice cube.

It was my turn to bathe. After feeling the water with my hands, I went running out hunting for the owner to turn on the water heater.

Bathing could be quite an experience throughout the journey, especially for the well-pampered urban Singaporeans. In Chilas, the tap would simply go dry while our heads were still full of shampoo foam. The Hunza water was black and looked dirtier than our stinking bodies. And later in Xinjiang, hot water supply would suddenly terminate without any warning when Carol had just finished soaping her body.

The SDU group went up to the Khunjerab Pass a day ahead of us and returned to meet us at Marco Polo Inn on the very same day. All had no problems with altitude sickness except Tricia who had some slight symptom of vomitting. It was the last day that the 2 groups were spending the night together. They would return to Islamabud while we would cross the pass and travel into Xinjiang. It so happened to coincide with Soo Pang’s birthday. We celebrated his birthday and danced the night away before we bid farewell to the SDU group the following day.

We had no problem with immigration in Sust. This was also the hometown of our royal blooded guide Nazeem who seemed to know everyone, including the immigration officers. We had to temporarily bid farewell to him and the driver as we switched to another van to drive up the pass and into China.

It paid to be generous to allow a police officer to hitchhike your vehicle up the Khunjerab Pass. There were several stops along the way where officers would get up the van to check the passports. Sometimes it could be rather irritating, as we had to pretend to be friendly and answer to their trying questions of where were we from, what were our occupations and if the girls were married. However, once they noticed that there was an officer with us, they would immediately back off and let us proceed without further delay. But, which I discovered later during the way back from Xinjiang, for this to work the officer had to be of some high ranking status instead of a low ranking small fry.

With a foot stepping in Pakistan and the other in China, I was finally on the 4730m high border. Thank goodness, I had managed to elude altitude sickness that had courted me during my Mt Kinabalu trip. However, I still got breathless from simple exertions like brisk walking. I cleared my lungs and took in a deep breath of the cold fresh air. To my disappointment, it was not as cold as I had expected. We had our photos taken under the harsh midday sun before crossing into the Chinese territory.

Xinjiang

The landscape immediately widened up as soon as we entered China. Vast planes of flat land swept across inbetween the mountains. Unlike Pakistan, the mountains here were spaced were much further apart without any claustrophobic effect feeling. Along the way, we were greeted by herds of yaks, double humped Bactrian camels and Mongolian nomads. We met our Chinese guide Her Yan and driver Master Kwok at the Tashkurghan immigration.

As we travelled northwards towards Kashgar after Tashkurghan, the weather started to become hazy. It was filled with micro fine sand particles caused by sandstorm blown from the Taklimakan Desert. It could get so bad that one’s view was limited to less than a mile. The PSI was easily above 150 and there was no need for any soft filter to achieve the soft focus effect. I regretted bring along my Carl Zessis Softar filter.

Shepherd masking his face due to the hazy condition from the Taklimakan desertstorm.

It was not uncommon to see shepherds with their herd of several hundred sheep jamming up the road.

"They are rushing to Kashgar to sell their sheep during the Sunday Market. The journey can take up several weeks." Her Yan pointed out to us.

"How's the shepherd gonna sell his sheep at the end of this long and harsh journey? There’s hardly any grass along the way for the sheep to graze!" One of us quipped.

I was rather surprised that some group members complained about the toilet condition and the food served in Xinjiang. Although presented with a wide spread, most of these repetitive vegetable dishes did not appeal to the meat eaters like us. While the rice was of much lower grade than those in Pakistan and the fragrant Thai rice back home in Singapore, the standard of the food served was lavish to me. In such outback travel, one's attitude and expectation should change accordingly and be prepared for the worst.

The condition of the toilets was another major complaint. Not only was the sense of smell assaulted, the sight could send one throwing up immediately.

Fertilising the pastures in Xinjiang.

I had to admire the ladies for having such strong bladders throughout the long journey. For guys, it was easy as we could always stop the vehicle and just pee behind a bush or simply by the side of the road. The ladies had initally teamed up together to encircle themselves with a groundsheet while one would hide in the middle to relieve herself. After some embarassing attempts, they gave up the idea and decided to hold their bladders.

The Sunday Market was the main highlight in Kashgar. Touted to be Asia’s biggest and most spectacular open market, as many as 100,000 people would stream into the city for trade every Sunday. The area would turn into a sea of pedestrians, donkeys, sheep and carts. The bazaar had various sections designated for specific trades. It was dominated by an array of faces from the minority tribes. Hardly did I see any Han Chinese in the bazaar.

One of those children that refused to let me off. She is dirty but drop dead beautiful!

For the first time, nobody in China seemed to understand me when I spoke Mandarin to them. Nor did the minority tribes speak Mandarin. On two separate occasions I was surrounded by groups of children. I was taking photos of these cute little devils who were initially shy. Soon they got accustomed to me and started pulling my hands, refusing to let me go. They were uttering some words that I did not understand. I was not sure if they were now asking for money, a survivor pen, or to have their address taken down so that I could send their photographs to them. The situation started to turn bad when one of them stretched out her hand and unzipped my waist pouch where all my money and important documents were. It seemed as though I was being robbed by a group of children in broad daylight! I barked and spanked her little hand before I could free myself from them.

Inside the Kirghiz tent in Karakul Lake

"It is going to be very cold!" Her Yan nearly dropped her jaws when we insisted sleeping out in the Kirghiz tent in Karakul Lake. We were returning to Pakistan after the Sunday Market and en route, we would rest over at Karakul Lake for the night.

The lake was a common rest stop for travelers along the highway. It rested between 2 giant Pamir mountains, each exceeding 7500m. After spending several days in Kashar at about 1000m, the ascent to the 3300m high lake was rather acute for some. Johnny was suffering from a slight headache while I became short of breath easily from brisk activities.

While the rest simply lazed around the tent to spend the rest of the afternoon, Kong, Carol and myself decided to venture to the Tajik settlements situated at the other side of the lake. We employed a guide to take us there. Kong and Carol each rode on a camel while the owner insisted me taking the horse.

Heading towards the Tajik settlement.

The settlements did not seem too far away but the journey to and fro took us more than 3 hours. The three beasts were moving so slowly. The guide must have not been feeding the animals well, especially the horse that I was riding on. The lazy fellow went on strike, stopping all the while to graze on the pastures and drinking from the small streams. It simply refused to move no matter how hard I screamed and kicked it.

When we finally arrived at the other end, the guide invited us into a house where we were served with hot milk tea and some food. We had been thinking that the Tajik was such a nice and hospitable tribe until they came chasing after us for the payment of the food when we left. During the course of conversation, Kong was astonished to realised that polyandry was practiced here. The lady in the house actually had 2 husbands!

May Lee celebrating the MoonCake Festival.

When night fell, eight of us squeezed ourselves into the tent and had an advance celebration of the Moon Cake Festival. It was the 14^th day of the lunar month. Thanks to Kong for bringing the moon cakes and lanterns with candles all the way from Singapore.

Kong outside the Kirghiz tent

None of us could really have a good night's sleep that night. It was too cold for some while others were simply numbed. We were so ‘kaisu’ that we wore many layers and covered ourselves with such thick blankets until our blood refused to circulate properly. And for me, I had such a weak bladder that I had to wake up several times to release.

My spirit was dampened as soon as we returned to Pakistan. As we travelled back along the same highway, the sense of adventure and excitement of being in a foreign new land was no longer there. It also marked that the trip was soon coming to an end. Back to the same hotels and locations also reminded me of the SDU group and I started to miss them.

Pretending to be one of the Pakistani in Swat.

We side tracked from KKH to Swat during the last few days. Claimed to be a mini Switzerland, Swat was supposed to be the last highlight of our trip. It was indeed beautiful but the arrangement by the tour agency had spoiled our enjoyment of this valley. Our hotel was located in a bazaar area downtown. We spent almost the whole morning driving up to the mountain, stayed there for an hour to have quick lunch before driving back again. Instead of the rush, they could have simply arranged our hotel to be in the mountain.

"Inshallah!" The PIA pilot blasted through the intercom as the plane started to taxi out to the runway. The trip was finally over. I would be back home in 7 hours to face the reality of life again.

[ Pakistan Photos | Xinjiang Photos ]

[Chinese Version]

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