Karakoram Highway from Gilgit to Kashgar (China)

  Kashgar, China
Monday, July 11, 2005

Tues 5th July Gilgit-Karimibad
We're heading to Karimabad (2438 metres) in the Hunza Valley today, a few hours north of Gilgit. The area is famous for its agriculture, which is made possible by its system of stone channels, up to 8 kms long, which carry water from the river to the fields. It's also a much more liberal area, as the people are Ismaili Moslems, a branch which split from the Shiites in the 8th century. There are now several million in the world (in Hunza and Gojal, India, East Africa, Iran and Syria). There present leader is Prince Karim Aga Khan.
Get away about 8 am, after having breakfast and checking out. Walk a short while looking for a taxi. Passed by a #1 Suzuki pickup, so get in, and confirm we are going to the bus station. Take up most of the room in the back with all our gear. It is a leisurely trip, picking up school kids, and workers. Dropped off at the bus station, and straight in. Signed up as first passengers in the only Karimabad ticket office apparently open for business. It is always a problem being the first, but at least we are given the front two seats beside the driver. MP is about to pay when he can't find his glasses. Thinks he may have lost them unloading, so goes back, can't find them, and Suzuki has gone. Cops it sweet, signs in without glasses, then find them in his pocket, acknowledges to the concerned ticket seller that he is a dickhead.
DP sits on the bumper of another van, in the shade, MP shares the shade of the ticket office with a large, tethered black and white goat. Later we get good photos of the goat being loaded onto the roof rack. Proves that this is very civilised travelling - goats aren't in with the passengers! Our bags are looking pretty lonely, and the other ticket office is now open, and they have a fuller vehicle, so it takes some time for ours to look like a going concern to the discerning local passengers.
The opposition fills and leaves, after a delicate operation of tying a glass skylight on top of it. There is almost a moment of logic when two passengers from the next opposition van are traded, but it doesn't last. We are pretty full when we depart, with the goat on top, and the ticket seller the last man in.
We almost immediately go onto a new road, down the hill and across the Hunza river, below where it joins the Gilgit river. Takes a bit of orientation to work out we ARE in the Hunza River Valley, and do not need to cross any high passes on the way to Karimabad.. The first section, once we get out of Gilgit, is pretty dry, then we get into areas where there are water channels spreading out along the scree slope of the mountain, and it is a lot more green and attractive. The river is not as wild as the Indus, but still not a swimming or boating proposition.. We fill up to dead full on the way north, and this includes two boys who have a cardboard box with them. When they get out at Aliabad, they have a useles box full of apricot pulp, which they dump by the roadside.
We pass the turnoff to Minapin (recommended by the English bloke as a good place to stop)which looks pretty good, and the base of the Rakaposhi peak, which looks really good on the way past, particularly the clean white glacier which came close to the road. The country here is terraced and irrigated and quite beautiful. From the front seat we were able to take a series of photos of the ranges either side of the river, the high benches above the river with irrigated terraced fields and higher green strips along the water channels. At other places, spurs of the range dropped straight into the river, with the remains of ancient caravan routes clinging to the side, or cut into the cliffs.
As described in the book, Aliabad is nothing flash, but not an unpleasant town, quite level and green, and providing some colourful photos, including the unloading of the goat.
We were pleased that our minibus took us all the way up the hill toward the fort at Karimibad, until we saw the Old Hunza Inn sign, and got out at the corner. Once again we're going for backpacker hangout, rather than comfort.
We followed the signs, being careful to avoid the Haider Inn as one of the traveller's had shown us his classic bed bug bites from his stay there), but are intercepted by OHI helper, who insists on towing the bags. For some reason, DP seems to be the one left with her bag. The reception and dining room area is pretty basic, with a fine, damp dirt floor, large table and benches. Wonder whether we're making a mistake this time, as seems more basic than Gilgit, and doesn't seem to have much in the way of communal areas. We have a welcome tea, and commit without actually seeing the rooms, but are pleasantly surprised at the double room, with bathroom attached, doonas on the beds, carpet and curtains, and later find we have HOT water (our first in Pakistan) for R200 a night. Also have a wonderful view of the mountains from our front door, and later find that our mattresses are VERY thin.
We headed uphill to look for lunch, Dianne without her head and arm covering for the first time since arriving in Pakistan. The atmosphere around here is completely different to the rest of Pakistan. There are women everywhere, and although most have their head covered, their faces are not, and they all say hello.
Couldn't get much attention at the Hunza Cafe, famous for walnut cake, so continued on, and were directed to the Hidden Paradise Restaurant, which was on the far side of the sharp ridge, with views over Altit, and reached through the concrete columns of an abandoned tourist project (Pakistan tourism has suffered badly since September 11 - this area had been very popular, and now the bazaar is just about deserted). As usual, we were the only customer. Ordered apricot juice, chicken vegetable soup, and chips. Read guide book and typed diary waiting while potatoes were procured, peeled chipped and cooked. The juice was made from reconstituted dried apricots blended in water, and was pretty sandy, but drinkable. They use all the apricot here, as it is one of the staples- fresh, dried, in soup, in jam, seeds into a sort of cereal, shells as fuel. The wood used to make the columns in the fort was apricot.
Continued on uphill, passing a lot of well stocked, but empty touristy shops. Finally found good cherries on sale for R40 a kilo, bought half a kilo, and continued uphill, checking out the internet cafe, which seemed to have what we needed, but no electricity, the polo ground, with excellent views, the major water channel, a water mill under construction. Were adopted by a local, would-be guide, a family man about 40, who was living in an original condition old house near the fort. He invited us to meet his 95 year old father, who had been in the British Army, and still seemed to be active and alert. Showed us some locally produced purses, and had a room for rent. We politely declined all offers, but the house itself was quite interesting, with low ceilings, carpet covered wide benches around the hearth, and a central smoke hole in the ceiling. The house was approached along narrow paths and steps, and through a passage with a room over. Hunza was well-publicised a few years ago for the longevity of its people.
After taking our leave, we climbed through a steep tunnel to the approach to the Fort, taking photos toward the mountain, and out over the terraced fields. At this stage we knew we had started another impromptu expedition, but we had cherries to sustain us, o climbed further up (we'd already climbed a long way uphill) to the ticket office for the fort. Took a while to raise the ticket seller, but paid our R300 each, and joined a tour which included an Indonesian man and two women, an American couple, and some local men with good English. There was a local dressed in traditional NW Frontier uniform, for show, but the tour was led by the director of the museum. The fort, or, actually the residence of the Mir, was a very impressive building, immaculately restored, looking quite authentic. The tour included a short slide show on the history of the fort, the Mir, and the current Mir's wife, an educated woman sans head covering, who is interested in bettering the lot of Hunza women.
Took an unauthorised photo of the reception area of the fort, plus photos looking ot the roof and fort against the mountain, and from the sunroom, looking over the valley.
Some local women/girls from Gilgit were all dresed up and doing a tour, and insisted on having their photo taken with us. During the tour, we talked to the US couple, who had flown into Gilgit on their fourth 4.30 am attempt. He was a travel writer for Moon, also doing some freelance, she was a nurse, on their way to Dharamsala, base of Dali Lama. After the tour, retraced our steps to the tunnel where there is a signpost showing the way to Ultar Meadow. This is also the way to the water channel and Eagle's Nest ( a hotel high up on the mountain, that'd been recommended), so we walked far enough along it to see if it was a reasonable track. While we were up at the fort, we heard two loud explosions, which were from blasting on the high water channel. From this point, we could see the patches of dust left on the sheer cliff where they were working on the channel. We decided that the walk looked possible, then headed back to the polo field, and along the water channel path decribed in the guide book as a way to get to other villages. Took a photo of the water in the channel, which looks from a distance like dirty bath water, but up close has a pearly sheen due to microscopic mica particles. After half a kilometer, headed back toward town, had a drink at a nice terrace cafe, bought more cherries, as our first half kilo had all been eaten, then headed downhill. The US couple had told us of a better internet below the turnoff to our hotel, so we checked it out, then DP did a massive wash in the really hot, but strange coloured water while MP did diary. We went for a short sleep, booked in for the evening communual meal, and DP went up to the internet office to upload photos to the blog, with encouraging results. Still hard at it when MP went up to fetch her for 7.30 dinner.
At dinner there were two Japanese guys, a Japanese girl, two Germans travelling separately, us, and three Pakistanis who seemed to be known to the host. The meal was excellent, notwithstanding the price tag of R50 a head - soup including seconds, rice, boiled small potatoes in a vegetable sauce, and an eggplant course which was as good as eggplant gets, followed up with watermelon and tea. Talked to the Japanese for a while, then headed back up to the internet till 10.30, with mixed success, but managed to get our blog photos uploaded, getting closer to up-to-date. On the internet, read that the sea cable for Pakistan's internet had been cut, and could be a couple of weeks before it's fixed, so that the problems we've encountered may not be normal. The problem is made worse by the fact that every day there are a number of power cuts, sometimes for a couple of hours.
Back in our room, managed to get the red-hot water under control long enough to have a shower and hit the sack, on paper thin mattresses, in our sheet sleepers, just in case the problem at the Haider had spread to the OHI.
Wedneday 6th July Karimabad
The night's sleep wasn't all that good, due to DP's concern about bed fellows, a noisy toilet door which had to be kept closed for odour control, and the thin mattresses, but got up at about 9. No breakfast obviously on, so after a bit more washing, and the last of the cherries, headed up the hill for more cherries on the way to the terrace restaurant for breakfast. Surprised to find no real breakfast menu, but managed to organise fried eggs on toast, tea and Pepsi, surrounded by visiting school kids.
Beyond the fort turnoff we descended to the path along the water channel. Climbed over a landslide while the channel passed under,then up through the narrow gorge to the channel headworks where there was a collection basin for the channel, and another from a natural spring to a water pipe, no longer in use. Looked at a plaque to a Japanese climber who died on Ultar 2 peak, only recently climbed at the head of the gorge. The bare Ladyfinger Peak is also up here, but it is a long climb, and we also didn't want to pass under the blasting work.
We retraced our steps, even DP not taking the shortcut, and descended to the bridge over the river, and up the other side, a steep, zig-zag climb on rock steps and loose gravel pathways. Got advice from locals at various points to make sure we are on the way to Eagle's Nest, and/or the village of Duikar, one of the two highest in Hunza (approx 3000 metres). At the second level water channel, DP sat while MP climbed up a hundred metres looking for a path. Didn't seem to be leading in the right direction, so on the way back when a local tells DP that this IS the way to Duikar. We climb a couple of hundred metres up, and find an obvious path to the right, while the onward path seemed to be dying.
This path led us across the face of the mountain, with some pretty good drops below us, and crossed a well-defined water channel which seemed to be going in the right direction. We followed this for a couple of hundred metres, walking carefully on the foot-wide wall, as the channel had been recently used, and was muddy in the bottom. The walls were reinforced by growing thorn bushes on them, and this made walking difficult. We reached a rocky spur into which the channel was cut, and decided there was a risk of the channel ending in a pipe, or being too delicate to walk on over a big drop, so retraced our steps to where we had joined the channel.
Having looked around with the idea that there MUST be an ongoing path, DP found it, and we continued up on a diagonal path across a steep rocky slope towards what looked like more cultivated terraces, in the general direction of Eagle's Nest, which we could see clearly now.
At this point, the path suddenly descended to a lower level channel, and we couldn't see any alternative route, so followed it down and across to below the hotel, which disappeared beyond the hill. We reached a steep ravine with very small terraces, but could see more open area beyond, so crossed the ravine and made our way up through weedy fields and stone walls, losing the way a few times, but finally arriving above the hotel at the new extension still under construction.
At the hotel, we were expected, as they had been watching us for some time. Sat at the window overlooking the valley and ordered cokes and a plate of fries, which were good, but took a long time. We were happy to look at the view, checking out the traditional Hunza house included in the building, then moving to the outdoor terrace as it was hot inside. We paid the bill in the main hotel lobby, which was very nicely furnished, and headed up towards the mountain on the jeep road to skirt around the Duikar village and head downhill.
The village was very pretty, with green fields of potatoes in flower, people working in the fields, freshly cut swathes of hay, and fields of yellow flowers, with the mountain dominating the background. The people were quite friendly on the way down, saying good afternoon, or salaam, or both. Once we left the plateau area at the top, the road became quite steep, with loops and switchbacks justifying its description as a "Jeep Trail", but didn't have the cliff-hanging quality of the Fairy Meadow trail. There was a good-sized stream running down from the next ravine upriver, and we followed it, with the water channels taken off it all the way down through the cultivated area until we came to a steep rocky section which defined the limits of the village.
About here we acquired a 10 year old boy who was a would-be guide. Talked to us all the way down, with not bad English, but there were gaps in his knowledge, couldn't understand when we asked him "where" his home was. We appeared to be taking him a long way out of his way, and couldn't shake him until we reached the lower village, where DP bought a Pepsi, cooled in the water channel, which the shopkeepers use instead of a refrigerator, and he bought himself some lollies, obviously with the money he'd been given by a tourist. He sat sharing them with some boy he seemed to know, and luckily gave up on us.
We had looked down on the village and fort of Altit from high on the mountain, and had talked to the Polish couple who had had a look at it. It had looked fairly close, then we lost sight of it on the way down, so were surprised to see it was fairly close once we made it to the flat land. It was a hot, dusty walk across the flat, past the strangely-shaped cricket ground, where there was a match in progress. Breaks in the fence had been covered with cloth, but we managed to see that the game was between innings, there was a covered area for the upper class, and a "hill" for the other supporters, plus a lot of people perched on fences and a building which also had TV cameras.
The village of Altit got more interesting as we got further into the labyrinth of alleys and tunnels around the fort. There was an excellent group of women under a tree near a well, but they didn't want to be photographed. We were able to approach almost up to the wall of the fort before encountering a barrier, where some Japanese tourists with a local guide were taking photos. Typically, the guide was more interested in talking in English to us than Japanese to them. Got involved in the maze of streets, and talked to a young local man with a baby, actually living in one of the tiny restored houses. Found a village cistern or pool, a bit like in India, about 30 metres square, with grey water and a small shingle beach one end, quite picturesque, but pretty grotty.
By the time we arrived back at the village taxi stand, the Suzuki van that was there had gone, so we walked back past the cricket ground in time to see some mighty hits, although don't know what the rules were about 6 and out, and bounces off the wall only 15 metres from one side. It also appeared that the bowling was all from one end. Certainly a training ground for versatile cricketers.
We were passed by only a couple of cars on the way back, although there wa a steady stream of young men walking toward the cricket. Passed over the bridge to the Karimabad side, and decided to try the shortcut which cut out a long zig-zag, and after a hard pull, emerged on the main street of Karimabad, well above our hotel, and walked down to the internet rather than home as DP was trying to avoid having an afternoon sleep. MP went back to the hotel to pick up the card reader to upload more photos, and finish the next diary entry.
Back to the hotel at 7.30 for another communal meal - saffron rice, cauliflower, lentils and tomato/onion salad, with green lettuce on the side for those with a ton of guts. Pretty good, but not as good as yesterday, and no dessert (but still only 50 rupees each). After we head back to internet till 10.30, then hot shower and off to our iron-hard little cots. Walking 17.5 kms (with LOTS of up and down)
Thur 7th July- Karimibad - Sost
We've found the Hunza valley as pleasant as all our information said - a superb setting wiith spectacular mountains covered in snow, wonderful terraced fields, and friendly people. We could easily spend a few more days here, but we want to be in Kashgar (China) for the famed Sunday market, and we're three days travelling away, so have to leave today, or hang around for another week.
Don't set alarm, but up pretty early to pack and order breakfast, fried eggs and a hard, heavy, stale and surprisingly expensive 4 slices of Hunza bread. Paid up our very reasonable bill and dragged our packs uphill through the soft sand to the main road, and down to the internet place, opposite the very imposing Darbar Hotel, which we never did get around to visiting, to wait for transport.
The first pickup wouldn't stop because it was full of freight, but the second vehicle, a minibus with only a few people slowed, but said they weren't going to Aliabad. They then reversed and asked if we were going to Sost. One of the eaiest transport pickups we have had, almost right at the door, and avoiding a transfer back at Aliabad, and the wait for the minibus to fill. At the bottom of the hill, we had to wait at a hotel in Ganish a short while until another man turned up, then we picked up another man and a policeman. It turned out they were picking up guides to take to Sost to meet a large incoming Japanese party, so didn't need to fill up. The addition of us was purely for interests sake.
The van was in pretty good shape - at first thought it was air conditioned, as the vents weren't taped up as in the normal commercial minibuses. We had comfortable middle seats, but when MP started taking photos, they gave him the front seat, with DP sitting all by herself, but talking to the three good English speakers in front of her. Continuous spectacular river, mountain, cliff and green terrace scenery all the way, with MP taking regular photos. Had lots of good conversation with them, especially on the sad state of tourism in Pakistan, and also the fact that the Hunza Valley is lumped in with the rest of Pakistan, but is actually quite different. Women are part of the community, drinking is part of the culture (although fairly surreptious due to the laws), and the people are very friendly.
At one spot opposite a village on the far bank, we made a mystery stop, with the crew getting out and whistling signals. A man appeared from the rubble early on, and then they searched around for a while, and another man turned up and got in. This could have been another of life's little mysteries, but we were able to ask them how they knew the people were there. Apparently the first man, who was related to one of the crew, was there to collect some medicine for the village, as pre-arranged. They'd then seen a bag beside the road, indicating someone was waiting for transport, so looked around, and when they found him, he got in the van.
Later, in a particularly narrow gorge, they stopped the van to point out the memorial where Lord Kitchener was wounded, and his horse died. There was one fairly flash monument higher up, and a rougher one lower down, possibly for the horse.
We stopped for a rest and tea in a carpet shop at Gulmit, the previous royal summer capital, which is now used as an access point for some of the valleys and glaciers.
We were thinking of stopping for a while at Passu, which was supposed to be particularly interesting, and, indeed, it was so, with a large glacier visible from the road, and an easy half day walk from it. There was also an excellent view of the jagged Cathedral Mountains, but, because we were getting such a good view from the van, we didn't feel the need to stop.
At one point we crossed the river East to West on a concrete bridge, and the guides pointed out an avalanche just beside the end of the bridge, extending all the way to the water. The ice was pretty dirty, but it was the real thing. Further along, another avalanche had cut the road, but a gap had been buldozed through leaving a mound of ice on the downhill side, and an ice cave on the uphill side, with a stream rushing through it.
We drove through Old Sost (2700 metres), without really having a good look, then past a string of trucks and truck parking areas, then through the bazaar area before pulling into the PTDC (Pakistan Tourist Development Corporation) hotel. Our friends went inside, and we paid the driver 100 each, more than the standard fare, but we saved on the fare down to Aliabad, plus travelled in comfort. We followed with the bags, not wanting to look too cheap by going to a budget hotel, but one of the guides organised a discount, bringing a good room with bath and supposed hot water (which didn't eventuate) down to an affordable R1000.
We bid them farewell, booked into our room, discussed money changing with the manager, and headed out to look at the one street "town". Although it was stinking hot, we decided to go to Upper Sost, somewhere up on the bench above the town. There was a guard post at a fork in the main road and we asked where the road up the hill led to. The Fort! We thought we would have a look, sat and waited for some sort of transport to take us up the hill. A van approached and stopped, turned out to be our van driver from Karimabad, with another man. Gave us a lift to the fort, which turned out to be the PORT, the transfer point for freight to and from China, a massive, new compound with lots of Chinese trucks, far too big to negotiate the trickier parts of the KKH, and a fair few Pakistani decorated trucks. Around the back, there was a fancy domed building with a restaurant and hotel. They dropped us there and left, and didn't want money. We were not sure of the protocol or prices in the restaurant, but sat down anyway, and were attended by a Chinese waiter. This could be the start of a long series of misunderstandings with ordering, but fortunately she brought an English language menu, with reasonable prices. We ordered two meals and rice, but, fortunately they were short on ingredients, so we settled for beef and french beans, with a lot of oil, and a fair whack of red chilli, which we were able to sort out. Plenty for two. Took the balance of the big pepsi bottle with us, and walked all the way down through the main street, buying plums for 30 rupees a kilo, before heading back to the hotel for a rest, plums and reading up on China..
Headed out again about 5.30 to walk upriver in the cool of the evening, asking permission at two road blocks, and walking a couple of kms until we had seen "round the bend", then came back through the town to buy a naan fresh out of the tandoor or open top oven, where they stick the sheet of dough on the wall with a large padded disc. As we were good customers, we were given the OK to take photos. On the way back, having eaten the naan, we bought two more, took them back to the hotel to have with Vegemite instead of risking being pushed into an expensive buffet in the hotel. As it turned out there wasn't a lot happening in the restaurant, and our man who was going to change rupees and dollars had gone.
As we came in the door, the TV was on the BBC giving coverage of the Underground and bus bombing, but the TV cut out halfway through, so we didn't get the full story. DP went out later to see what was happening, and was told by another desk man to change money at customs in the morning. There was a large group of men in the lobby, so she decided to get the hell out of it.
Fri 8th July Sost(Pakistan) -Tashkurgan (China)
Up with the alarm at 7 am, and down to the customs compound by 7.30, but can't see anyone to change money with. DP realises she's left our carefully-washed good plums in the room so goes back for them, and also finds our muesli cup and spoon as well. MP buys 4 chapatis for R10 to carry us through the potentially very long trip (some say about nine hours, but others tell us it took 13 hours due to roadworks and landslides).The customs compound opens promptly at 8, the time we were told to be there, with our ticket seller urging everyone to get on with it. There is a big Chinese Yutong bus in the compound, with a big load of baggage and freight on the top and a couple of coasters with Chinese writing.There are probably 16 tourists there, of which 10 are going our way, and 6 who arrived from China about 8pm last night, and have been allowed to stay the night and have their baggage checked in the morning. The baggage inspection is pretty perfunctory, but is complicated by an Austrian couple who have been biking for 10 months, and have an amazing amount of luggage, plus two fairly hi-tech touring bikes. There is also a Kiwi with a basic bike..
It takes quite a while to clear customs, then pack the gear on the roof. The baggage man appears to be intellectually impaired at first, but probably just deaf and dumb. Does a mighty job of packing the diverse items into the roof rack, and the bikes on behind. It all proceeds with remarkable efficiency compared with the stop for customs, 200 metres up the road, where the details are entered laboriously by hand. The casual Kiwi is the only one who hasn't been given an immigration card. Borrows ours to wave in front of the immigration staff, but they have none to spare, so after first planning to bluff his way through without it, he walks back to the bus station for one. There is an Afghani who is being given a hard time because he cannot write, so the Poles we have met several times help fill in his card. It all comes together, and we are off just before 11am, the time predicted in the guidebook, and nearly three hours after the time we were told the bus was going. There is another check 200 metres down the road to make sure we are all stamped out, then we are off, officially.
The road is pretty good at first, along the flat valley floor, until it narrows into a canyon, with just enough room for the road and 10 metres of river. It is here that we encountered our first landslide, the one that scared the hell out of last night' tourists coming from China. They had had a hell trip, 13 hours, compounded by the lack of a first gear on their bus, but negotiating this landslide while it was still fresh, in the middle of the night, with an extreme angle of tilt on a bus already unstable fron the load of freight on top was the limit. One of the group, a young, attractive Chinese girl was looking at the bus in the morning to make sure that her chunder from the night before had been cleaned up.
Our transition across it took a bit longer, but this was because they had a bulldozer flattening down the hump. There was also a drilling team on the road, probably rockbolting the road to keep it where it should be.
From here we climbed through the narrow canyon, the road flanked with old landslides, and the river bridged in several place with dirty ice from old avalanches. In several places a passage had been bulldozed through the toe of an avalanche, leaving dirty ice walls either side of the road.
Not far into the narrow section of the gorge, there is one of the large Chinese trucks down in the river, where you can see the back wheels and half of the trailer, but not the prime mover. A sobering site for intrepid travellers. We have pretty good seats, up the front of the bus, although they are raised over the front wheels, making it hard to see the top of the mountains without ducking down.
At the Khunjerab National Park checkpoint at Dih, 35 kms from Sost, the valley opens out, and there are willow-like trees and a fair bit of greenery in the valley bottom. We get a rest stop while the $US4 per head is collected. The Kiwi gets the distinction of having his passport used as the "Group Leader", which means only one form has to be filled out instead of 20. In typical style he disappeared when the form had to be signed, and someone else had to be rung in. The notice at the park indicated that there were three types of large mountain sheep/goats, as well as golden marmots, in the park. We really didn't expect to see any of them, because the landscape had been so harsh.
From Dih to the Khunjerab Pass (4730 metres) was about 50 kms. The road continued to climb, not so steeply as we neared the top of the climb, and the grass and wildflower cover became thicker. We were up at the snow line when the first golden marmot was spotted, with much excitement in the bus, and everyone got out their cameras. By the time we reached the top, we had seen a dozen or more. The bus stopped at a check point right on the top, and again at the border, where we were allowed out for a photo stop. We got some good shots of the high pass and the mountains, and the double wire fence stretching out of site along the border. We were now 880 kms from Rawalpindi and 400 kms from Kashgar.
DP wanted a photo of the border sign, which was a fair way back, so MP ran back to take it, forgetting, for a short while, how high it was, and felt pretty bad for a while, with altitude sickness. This is also where you change the side of the road you drive on (China is right-hand drive, while Pakistan is left-hand).
Not far from the top, heading for the Chinese check point, we encountered two of the large Chinese semi-trailers bogged in the middle of the road. The only path through between them was rocky and heavily rutted, so we had to get out to lighten the load, allowing the bus to negotiate the bumps. This would have been one of the factors making the bus from China the day before take 13 hours for the trip, as it would have been dark, and the road a lot muddier.
No trouble at the Chinese immigration check point, at Pirali (4100 metres). Head down on gentler slopes with excellent views of high, snowy mountains, green meadows and slope, and a clean, green river flowing in the valley. The golden marmots became more prevalent, living in burrows in the rocky ground, sometimes in groups, like prairie-dog towns, sometimes alone. DP asked the driver if he would stop if a good photo opportunity arose, and he was quite obliging. Got a number of photos, mostly of backsides disappearing into burrows, but did see a lot of them. Some were standing surprisingly tall, in the lookout stance, others looked very squat and fluffy. Some of the field rocks were the exact colour of the marmots. As the flats widened out, dozens of the animals could be seen on the green grass. The mountains became higher and steeper as we dropped down, with dozens of glaciers, and some very heavy snow cover on the tops.
We pass the Mintaka valley stretching west between Pakistan and Tajikastan and, 75 kms up, Afghanistans Wakhan Corridor. Then reach Davdar, a Tajik settlement, with wide green flats and livestock. We see a few camels, a lot of cattle, goats, but no identifiable yaks.
There is a lot of work being done on the road, to make it all-weather and highway standard. Every kilometer or so, where there has been a stream crosing the road, they have cut a deep slot, and are installing cast-in-place concrete culverts, using local materials, and mixing the concrete on site, using electric powered mixer, connected to mobile "lunger" diesel engines. There are a lot of workers on the active construction sites, and a lot of the work is manual. They still use wheelbarrows with a motorbike wheel each side of a central hopper to place the concrete. All the concrete work to be below ground is being tar-coated, to protect it from freezing damage.
Not far below the summit, the stream in the valley has grown to a substantial river, meandering across the flats. Where it comes near the road, they are building substantial concrete training walls, replacing previous flood damaged walls made of cemented rocks.
As well as all the culvert work, they are widening and realigning the main road, so at least half of the distance down to the flat land is on detours which criss-cross the main road, generally at the culverts. The work force must be in the thousands, although not as many as used pushing through the original road, as there are a lot of abandoned, or hardly used townships. The individual buildings are quite large, and spaced about 50 metres apart. Each one has a large, south-facing greenhouse and/or sunroom. They look like they are made of mud bricks and are showing the signs of weathering.
While the irrigation systems are not as sophisticated as those in Hunza, side streams are being taken off the river to allow irrigation of the dry slopes. It looks as though the area is still under development, and could end up as an extensive irrigation area.
We pass high mountains with snow on them on either side, and can see a large range to the west which ends suddenly at the north.. We can also see a massive isolated mountain ahead of us, beyond Tashkurgan. This is the Muztagh Ata, or Father of Rivers massif, 7546 metres high, and heavily snow covered.
Nearing Tashkurgan, the river flats have a lot of greenery and poplar trees, and the irrigation diversion channels are larger and more frequent. In a number of places we have to drive through deep water. There is a town before Tashkurgan with no name, then we get onto a better road, and can see the new, flash Chinese immigration centre on the outskirts. Here we lose the two People's Army soldiers who have been travelling with us, keeping an eye on us all the way from the border, as we haven't formally entered the country yet. This might be seen as excessive security, as a camel would find it difficult making a living on a lot of this country, let alone a faringi tourist.
We fill in tourist cards, get an infra-red temperature check, presumably for SARS, get our daypack searched, then line up for processing. We are just about at the desk when we notice that others have their main baggage with them. Too late, so go through, then have to make our way back to pick up the packs and make our way through again. All the luggage is X-rayed, then we are out through the door. DP is buttonholed by a man in braided uniform, who gives us a brochure for a very flash looking hotel. Looks a bit rich for our style, but reading of the fine print shows that it is, indeed, theTraffic Hotel, by the bus-stop, our hotel of choice. We are shouted a free ride in a clapped-out Suzuki-style van, which jut makes it to the hotel. After we are told that the only beds available are in a Y120 room, in spite of our man's offer of beds from Y10 to Y100, we book in, and they head back for another load of tourists. Most end up here, although not sure where the young and budget-minded ended up.
The hotel room is in keeping with the 5-clock reception -good bed and bedding, and hot water if you can sort out the interesting bypass valve system on the suspended electric hot water tank.
It is still surprisingly early (7ish) having made a lot better time on the road than we expected, so head out to have a look at the town. The main street is very wide, with service lanes down each side outside the shops, hotels and workshops. These lanes are paved with big, waterworn stones and the walking is a lot easier on the main road.
We are looking for internet, and also the only sight in the town, the Fort. We have no luck with the first, but near the end of the main street, we see a short side street with steps at the end leading to a locked gate. Through the gate, we can see a rocky wasteland stretching away towards the greenery along the river, but no fort. MP wants to give it away, but DP insists on climbing the rocky hill to circumvent the gate and fence. From the hill, we can ee the ruins of a mud brick fort, with sloping walls 10 metre high, breached in a number of places, and with no discernable internal structure, so take one photo, and continue down to where the hill ends behind a line of houses with attached animal yards at the road along the edge of the wide, grassy river flats. Take photos of yurts out on the flat,then DP leads the way down through the animal yards to find a way out onto the road. Take photos out on the grass, then walk along the road and back up the town.
There is a lot of action on the main commercial street, crossing the main road, but we are too beat to have a good look at it. Find the general location of the internet from the guide book, and see a grotty stair well which also serves toilet functions. This is a pretty good indication of a Chinese internet cafe, and, encouraged by diners at a street table, we head on up, and along the balcony to find an internet cafe and billiard hall. Can't find who is in charge, but get the attention of the most likely suspect, but he indicates that it is not for us.
Head back to the hotel, where the Restaurant is open. The Polish couple are there, so we join them. They have ordered something that looks interesting, so we decide to have a go too, but there are only a few selections available. Settle for chicken and eggplant, but both are unidentifiable in the dish provided. It is still quite acceptable, even if we don't know what it is, and the rice is generally good. A big bottle of Sinjiang "New" beer is quite acceptable at Y5.
The TV in the room is only a couple of Chinese channels so we get the weird hot water system going, and hit the sack, setting the alarm to get us up at 8 am Beijing time for the 9 to 9.30 opening of the booking office which, we have been advised, is just next to the hotel. Time here is very confusing. Officially all China runs on Beijing time, but unofficially there is "Xinjiang time" which is two hours earlier than Beijing time. You always have to check which time people mean.
DP is pleased with the clean beds and warm doonas.
Saturday 9th July Tashkurgan - Kashgar
No sign of action at the restaurant, so make up some muesli, and MP goes up to look at the booking office. There is a local type with a bag at it but not much else. The sign on the wall gives the times and prices for the buses so looks like the right place.
When we are ready, we check out, and head out with our bags. MP waits at the booking office, while DP heads up to the bus station. At the booking office, someone with a bit of authority directs the local, plus a well dressed local woman, up to the bus station, so MP follows. There are a lot of people waiting at the entrance to the waiting room. DP waits with the bags, while MP stands reasonably close to the ticket window. Suddenly, there is a rush to the window, MP finds himself about 4 back from the window, with about 12 bunched around it, with nothing like a queue. Next, the door of the waiting room opens, and the ticket window closes, and there is a rush inside. MP doesn't improve his position during this change, and locals at the back are passing money forward to those near the window, financial queue jumping. The ticket sales are pretty slow, and there is a general rearrangement when a satisfied customer tries to get out. There is the usual end-run going on, with people sneaking along the wall and getting their hand and money through the window..
Eventually a local with some sort of authority whips the bunch into a queue, with MP still a fair way back. DP, outside, comes in to see why Murray hasn't come out with the tickets, as lots who were behind him have. She finds he still has as many people in front of him as before. She takes up a side position to prevent end runners. One local bypasses the queue, and comes to stand near DP. Christof, the Pole (who has lived in India for five years, and is experienced at this) gets the shits and comes forward to physically fling the man to the back of the queue. Eveyone is a bit shocked, but it seem to sort out the queue jumping. Meanwhile, DP has succeeded in getting a hand in the window, and gets two tickets for us, and one for the Kiwi, who has to go away and get his bag and bike, as he slept in.
We get seats 25 and 26, have to be toward the back. It turns out there are enough seat for everyone, in spite of the scrum at the ticket window. The women were seated first then a free for all , so by the time we got down the back, and found the numbers written in texta on the base of the seats, there was someone in our seats anyway, so we selected two together nearby, as, in the classic style, our proper seats were either side of the aisle. The Poles had grabbed two near the front, and as we got under way, DP made a bid for the vacant front two, and got away with it, so we had good seats up front, with a view from the aisle seat straight through the windscreen. The window seat was against a pillar, but both opened, so we could clean the window, and open it to take photos.

The window glass was quite strongly coloured blue, so a lot of the ochre-coloured landscape looked grey through it.
Not long after leaving Tashkurgan, with its flat, green valley floor,

and the Tagharma Basin, we climbed through a side valley, going upstream on a new river, through arid hills. The road continued upward, with the usual detours and culvert contructions until we crossed a high pass, the Subash Plateau (4000 metres), at which stage we were only 10kms from Tajikistan.

Then dropped down a long series of switchbacks to a flat-floored valley. The road was under serious reconstruction here, with a wide roadway being cut through soft sandy hillsides.

Later we passed the 7546 metre Muztagh Ata massif, which turned out to be a series of ridges running east-west, with deep gorges between, rather than the single massive mountain seen from the south. Each gorge had its own glacier, and one glacier was a U-shape, around an isolated peak. Every ridge had a heavy snow load on it.

As the massif receeded to the rear, another range of mountains, Kongur, 7719 metres, with one particularly large glacier, arose beyond Kara Kul Lake.
The sky was quite overcast, and the lake was looking very grey, with only patchy spots of green where the sun broke through. The lake is in a basin with snow covered mountains all around. There is a fair bit of barren, rocky ground between the lake and the snowline and the glaciers, and is not all that attractive. We pass the tourist resort with its ugly wind turbine, and stop on the hillside over an ethnic village on the flat beside the lake.

There are three bikers by the road waiting to be picked up. While they are loading, the men go to the right, women to the left for comfort stop DP can now confirm that all the local women wear long, thick stockings.

While the bikers are being loaded the Kiwi gets to talk to them, and by the time he convinces himself that he should stop off for the Y30 a night accommodation, local food, and the chance to climb up to the snowline, the bus is about to leave, and the new bikes and gear have all been loaded and tied down and covered. He then asks for his gear and bike to be unloaded. For some strange reason, possibly involving the income of the ethnics, the bus driver retrieves the ladder from wherever he stows it, unpacks the bikes on top, finds his 4 separate bags, then repacks. All the locals cop this performance sweet, and eventually we head off, minus one out-of-it Kiwi..
The lake looks a little better with a patch of sun on it, but certainly not enough to induce us to enjoy the dubious hospitality of the locals, at 3700 m altitude, and flag down the next through bus. There is a smaller lake tucked into the hill on the left side of the road just beyond Kara Kul lake, prettier than the main lake.
There are major sandhills

on the left hand side dropping down to a large flat marshy area, with a row of concrete yurts being finished off in whitewash, probably tourist accommodation, and a viewpoint overlooking the flat with locals in traditional outfits selling semi-precious stones and traditional handcrafts. The sandhills are a yellow-grey colour, but through the bus window are a bluish-grey.
We come to the settlement of Bulunkul Dobey, right under the Kongur massif, with views to the west stretching to the snow-clad Pamir mountains.
The Ghez gorge is narrow and steep,

with sheer rock faces up to the snow line and scree slopes right down to the road, and evidence of recent landslides, but the road is relatively wide and smooth, and we make it through to the custom post at Ghez without incident.
The settlement is quite picturesque, in the narrow gorge, with a rushing brown river on the right, and steep mountains on the left. There are food and drink stalls, as well as souvenir shops along the road, and we buy an apricot juice to help us on our way.
We have to get out and walk through the modern, white-tiled customs post, with no hassles. Get back in the bus to shelter from the searing sun, and head off down the widening valley.
The road work continues, with extensive river training walls and road widening. As we leave the gorge, the geology changes dramatically, with bright red canyon walls cut by pale layers.

There are serious river diversion canals being installed to irrigate the flat land all the way to Kashgar. We can see trees in the distance, and a group of enormous communication towers off to the west, probably a military site, or connected with the space program. The road is now lined with poplars, and
there are mud brick farm houses at regular intervals. The houses have animal yards attached, and trellises, some with grape vines. It is difficult to photograph them, as they are too close on our side, too much bus in the picture the other side.
We make the compulsory lunch stop an hour out of Kashgar at a village called Upal, right in the main road, with outside food stalls and eating places (hardly restaurants)

There are places selling grilled meat on skewers, with the meat supply hanging on a hook beside the long grilling troughs, traditional Uighur kitchens with sheep parts boiling in immense hemispherical vats, set in brick stoves. Some of these are purely meat and water, but others have oil, vegetables and spice, and smell pretty good.
DP insists on buying a watermelon for Y5, gets it cut up and deposited into a double plastic bag. Works surprisingly well, and we share it around the travellers.

It is stinking hot, but we walk the interesting commercial area, getting some good local colour, and the compulsory donkey-cart shots.
It is really hot, and can't stay in the open for too long. No obvious toilet facilities, so bless dehydration and cop it sweet.
Back in the bus we travel through more poplar groves, then pass through a major intersection with large white tile clad buildings. Think it is Kashgar, but travel another half hour to get to wide concrete-paved streets, and the bus parking compound. This is not our regular bus station, but a walled enclosure paved with loose gravel, and holding a couple of buses.
The bikers we picked up at Karakul Lake are unloaded first, and they disappear straight away, then the other bikes and the 20 or so items with them are unloaded, and us last. The bus unloader says it cost Y20 to unload. Most of the work was for the bikers, but the Poles, an Italian and us pay the lion's share.
The loosely formed tour group of us, the Italian, the English guy (Richard) and the two Poles (Christoph and Olga) take two taxis at Y5 each to the Chini Bagh Hotel, where we book in, in the old section, for 120 yuan. Hotel is very similar to one we stayed in in Kunming four years ago. Has a very grand driveway and entrance, and fancy International hotel (looks far too fancy for our budget), but there is another more basic block to the back. We manage to avoid paying the first night and deposit of Y220 by leaving DP's passport, as we have very little local currency. Are told that the Bank of China opens at 11 local time tomorrow. Are not told that it is probably open RIGHT NOW. The rooms are quite good, with A/C, quite good bathroom and bedding, and TV with the English language CCTV9 station.
We walked down to the big mosque then headed into the old city on our side of the main road. Walked through the narrow streets, checking out old buildings, looking into interesting courtyards. After we emerge from the alleys, we walk down to the main street to see if the Bank of China is still open. We find it, but no luck on seeing Visa or other international signs on any of the various brands of ATM's we checked out. Wrote down the opening and closing times, which bore no relation to the 11 am opening time, local, that we had been advised. Had a walk through the main square opposite the immense Mao statue, to find the people at play, with jumping castles, train and toy car rides, and just sitting around. Very like the square in Kunming. In fact, everything Chinese is starting to look like another town in China!

Get a cold coca Cola, check out the main Bank of China branch on the square, with the same office hours on the wall. Walk back west, then up Jiefang Beilu, the main street home, with a view to cutting back through the old town, but the street has a central divide with no breaks, so walk almost all the way to the mosque before cutting through an interesting street crowded with street life, back to the hotel.
Decide to eat in the hotel's attached restaurant and bar, get beer for Y5, red wine for Y10, typical dishes for Y14 to 20. The egg plant once again is particularly good.
Turn on the air conditioning as a compensation for the heavy bedding, and get a pretty good sleep after some hard travelling, feeling pleased to have completed the famous Karakoram Highway.