Your bottom, my head...

After a very enjoyable evening at Iqbal's meeting all his kids, brothers, brothers kids, cousins, but only breifly the wife, we headed down to the Kalash valleys to check out a festival that was on, 'The returning of the shepherds'.First day there (and from then on) we got eaten alive by fleas that had infested everyone and everything in the valley, but managed to have a great time at the festival, which consisted of the colourfully dressed women dancing in one circle, drunken young lads in another, and old men standing in the middle telling stories. Every now and then one of the young lads, very very pissed on the local firewater, Tara, would knock one of the old men over and need to be pinned down by several of his mates. It didnt take long for us to locate our own firewater, but we didnt take part in the celebrations which went right through the night. Instead we hung out with an English guy, Jon, who had driven his Honda Civic from England, drinking his vodka (then his tara) and telling tales of the road. Returned to Chitral (finding some 'Osama Bin Laden' biscuits in a shop, complete with picture of the great man, but sadly not with attendant health warning 'poisonous to infidels') for a few more repairs before heading up to the Shandur pass..spending a v enjoyable evening in the chilled village of Mastuj, Cadie having to enjoy some banter with a very funny fella from Abottabad whose favourite phrase (to Cadie), in a thick Pakistani accent, was "Your bottom, my head".... Ran into Iqbal at the checkpoint, who had been there for two days trying to negotiatiote with, and at one point fighting with, the police over the amount of baksheesh he would have to pay to get his dodgy cars, 'custom plate' imports from Afghan with no duty paid on them, back down to Chitral.

There is a better road now up the Shandur pass than before, that evening we tried to camp in Teru but were moved on by an over officous copper, okay, so we headed to the nearest PTDC and camped there and got sick from their chicken jalfrazei as an added bonus. After a few days in Gilgit being inspired to go trekking by some mountaineers staying at our hotel, headed up to Chapusan, a valley in the Wahki region (which runs parallel to the Wakhan valley and therefore very near the area we were in a month before) to do just that. Trekked for a day up the stunning but cloudy valley, spending the night at the hut of Alum Jan's father in Baba Gundi where there is an important Wakhi / Ismaili shrine. Alum Jan a very nice laid back chap, whose house we stayed in the night before in the lower village, also joined us together with a Canadian guy. As luck would have it, a French trekking party (of two) very well equipped with a guide and cook and three porters, ending up sharing our hut and we got the benefits of first rate trekking support, a four course meal of various different dishes and even creme caramel for pudding - the best meal we had in Pakistan found in the most unlikely of places - we had planned potatoes, the local crop, and rice...

We were fairly knackered and stiff after the next day's walk down, but returned to Passu and after a two days rest decided to do the 5 day trek up the Batura Glacier, one of the longest in the region. We awoke on the first morning of the trek feeling like condemend prisoners, particularly as I (Tom) had a dodgy ankle and the soles of Cadie's boots were now held together with tyre sealant and looking like that wouldnt last five minutes, but the first day was an easy 2 and a half hour walk up to a shepherd huts at the edge of the glacier. Couldnt get the tent (a cheap second hand one bought in Gilgit) to stay up in the katabatik winds (a word borrowed from a trekking guide) coming from the slopes above, and so kipped in the hut with our top porter, Mr Haida, and the rats...Next day crossed the Glacier, a mass of huge mounds of bolders, ice and the odd crevasse, the soles of Cadie's boots coming off just as we reached reached the very steep section on the other side. It just so happened that another group were heading back and had a spare pair of boots, size 8 mens, so Tom tried to convince me (Cadie) that they would fit and be more comfortable, I declined... A few choice words and a load of gaffer tape later we pressed on for 3 more hours to our campsite in the summer pasture village of Yashpirt, which is by some distance the most beatiful village either of us had ever seen. Perched on a grassy mound above the Glacier, and looking over to the Batura Wall, ice fall and a ring of fourteen 7500m peaks, Yashpirt is only occupied for 2 months a year, and so was not occupied when we were there, except for a large population of very friendly Yaks and the sounds of the groaning glacier, which sounds like thunder. Luckily for us Mr Hada owned one of the huts, all made out of the logs of the ancient slow growth Juniper trees that grew on the valley sides, so after managing to get the tent up we cooked in his hut, joined breifly by Mr Hada's Yak, looking for salt. Perhaps as a result of the Wakhi's kindness to all their Animals, we found the Yak's to be great company (so long as not stepping on our tent), along with the view, the white surrounds all lit up by the full moon before we turned in. Next day we put in a long 8 hours walking up to the highest summer pasture, with good views of the upper Batura Glacier and peaks at its end, before returning a little to a couple of huts, a few of the Passu women (who uniquely look after the animals in summer on the high pastures and make the cheese) and a couple of hundred goats to camp. After two more days backtracking, and being treated to the sight of an entire cliff face detach itself from the valley side and crash to the glacier below (we saw it long before we heard the roar), we returned to Passu and a bit of a piss up, a wedding in the village meaning there was a steady supply of Chinese arak available, the Ismaili's not being too strict on the no alcohol rule. Next day went to Mr Hada's for an excellent dinner with his lovely family, including meeting the women, the Ismaili being by far the most liberal offshoot of Islam, and all round the nicest people as well. Indeed the most abiding memory of our time in the Northern Areas was more the kindly, honest, funny and warm people than the mind blowing scenery; two things that combine to make it one of the very best regions on earth, and probably our favourite on this trip. After the trek, our mood flattened as we decided we'd spent enough time in the mountains and it was time to get to India, particularly as the visas take a week to come through in Islamabad. So we headed off down the KKH, having seen its full lenghth on the Pakistan side (we consider the Pamir highway to be much much more beautiful) and a few hours later noticed one of our iffy Tajik springs had gone, though this time we had a spare of sorts, so had it fixed up in no time. Got to Islamabad to find the Indian embassy was closed the next day (Friday), so were annoyed we rushed down from the mountains a little as we'd missed the Desoai plains, which would have been great fun in the cruiser, even with a likely broken srping. After a weekend getting bitten and meeting other tourists in cars, our first on this trip, at the Tourist campsite, headed off to Lahore for a few days of smog, noise and Murree beer. We stayed in a Christain run Hotel that had a sideline business of selling beer to its guests. The knock on the door, 'would you like some soap sir'...then once inside would you like some beer sir?. Naturally we obliged and felt like teenagers hiding away from our parents drinking beer, and we ended up with 15 bars of soap too.... Lahore being just too noisy and polluted we decided a few relaxing days in the hills would be better and, after being turned back from Kashmir as we didnt have the required permission or our passports, headed up to Murree and then on to Nataghali in the foothills. A very picturesque place, quiet and cool, we did a day walk up a 10,000ft peak, and are now, after a combo of asian diet, exercise and asian stomach troubles, for the first time in a while we are fit and slim!

We got back to Islamabad on the first day of Ramadan, and drew alot of nasty looks when trying to surroptiously eat an ice cream in the car before sundown. Ramadan itself interesting, kicked off by an air raid siren at 4am, alot of tents put up for extra praying (ten times a day for the faithful) and a bit of a feast at sundown, the mobile mosques turning into mobile restuarants between prayer times. Still we took it as our queue to leave the Muslim world, and after picking up our India visas made it through the border to Amristar in a day. Spent an enjoyable time there chekcing out the incredilbe Golden temple, the most beatiful religous building we've seen (and we've seen some of the world's finest), with a wonderfully freindly and peaceful atmoshpere to boot. Next day drove the few hundred clicks to Delhi through the crippling traffic, which is by a distance the worst on the trip so far. The amount of cars is probably less than say Iran, but its the other things on the road, the bikes, carts, rickshaws, cows, dogs, madmen etc. that cause the problem. Still we are used to it now (bumber to bumber driving, beeping the horn, generally driving like a nutter), though we still managed a few 'kisses' with a bus, truck, cart and lastly a very angry women (who didnt appreciate our advances) whilst squeezing through the melle in Old Delhi. Before getting into Delhi we were forced to stop by a car in front (nearly crashing into him), the driver asking if we had paid our "Delhi entry tax', all because he had a walky talky in his hand - we ignored him and drove on. India is undoubtedly throwing up some difficulties with the car, like trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to park the damn thing in Delhi. Still in the end we found a good spot, left the car to stay in another area, and got ourselves sorted with tickets to NZ and other things, and enjoying hanging out with Pete from Leeds and Guido from Holland in the watering holes (a novel experience) of Pahar Ganj. Left Delhi a few days ago and have just spent a charming couple of nights bush camping in the scrub of Rajhastan, taking a back lane route (on some baddish roads) and taking in each villages splendid fort or temple, being treated to free tea, coffee and even breakfast from the proud and very friendly locals in each one. Bush camping in India (or this region at least) seems to be no problem, and the scenery and sunsets are incredible, though we always have a few visitors and can always hear a nearby village, to be expected in a country of 1 billion people...and the people are not quite as polite as those further west (Indians like to stare!), e.g. this morning we were woken up with "get up its morning time, the sun is shining" (it hadnt yet risen), then with the guy pushing up on our roof tent "get up it is morning" (meaning get up so I can stare at you), then a few sharp words from us in reply, then the old Indian chesnut, "what country?" before he buggered off, all at 5am...

In the next few days we hope to do more of the same (hopefully minus the dawn visitors) on our way down to Gujarat and a long overdue appointment with the beach. We will stop there for a while recharging our batteries (and to celeberate our birthdays) before we head off again firstly to the western past of Gujarat, then east across the country.

Photos are of Kalash lads getting down, mountain reflected in pool, Passu, Autumnal colours on the trek, Batura first ice fall, and Mr Haida with his Yak.