Out of the tandoori oven

Let's start with the story of the day: as we were eating breakfast this morning a vacationing family from Gujranwala came by the introduce themselves.  The kids asked us a bunch of questions and told us about their XBOX and quizzed me "what is 2+2x2?" to which I incorrectly replied 8.  The youngest girl asked is we liked wrestling (the WWF) and then pointed out that my name, Matt, was the same as one of her favourite wrestlers, Matt Hardy.  After some coaxing from their proud father, two of the kids sang, in perfect American rap accents, the theme songs for their favourite wrestlers.  You imagine a bunch of things coming to Pakistan, but that wasn't one of them.

To continue from last post, from Gilgit we continued south on the KKH to a town called Chilas.  It took two days that were short in kilometers but long in hours.  Something we read uses the word "cauldron" to describe the area, and that is a pretty bang-on description.  Gone were the villages perched on high ledges, the apricot trees, the cold glacier fed streams.  Our water was as hot as tea and the wind was like standing in front of a space heater.  The road reached its worst condition so far, and all told, I would conclude that biking the KKH, though spectacular, is a really tough ride. 

From Chilas, we reached a Pit Stop as Phil Keoghan would say, "a choice between two options, each with their own pros and cons".  Here the KKH continues downhill through hot, rather barren terrain along the Indus River, through a region called Kohistan.  One valley over from Swat, Kohistan has a history of being difficult to control and apparently has an "anti-foreigner" sentiment.  Even the area around Chilas is supposed to be similar, though we found people were as friendly as ever.  Other cyclists have cycled Kohistan without any problems.  The other option was into the Kaghan Valley, a popular domestic tourist region that is very relaxed, but no longer counts as the Karakoram Highway.  The only issue with the Kaghan Valley is the entrance: Babusar Pass, towering around 2500m above Chilas would take two to three days to reach if we wanted to avoid any altitude sickness worries.

So we cheated a bit, and hired an old-school jeep with overheating bearings and a panels of gauges that didn't work, to drive us the 50km up an incredibly steep, bumpy road to "Babusar Top".  There was snow at the top, and the cold air was a welcome break from the previous day's heat.  The road was terrible for about 20km, and back on bikes our descent was painfully slow until we reached the alpine Lake Lulusar.  From there, besides some great rivers of water across the road, we were on asphalt.

I don't want to jinx the trip, but it appears that us in the West really have it wrong about Pakistan.  Of all the places I've travelled these people have got to be the most inviting.  The Kaghan Valley is loaded with tourists, as this is high season, and our progress has slowed because so many vehicles stop to talk to us.  There are handshakes all around and photos but moreso just a gratitude to see foreigners travelling comfortably.  We've seen men singing, we've been hugged, and our day is full of big smiles and cheering passengers.  Most people ask us in absolute sincerity "is there anything we can do for you?" and I have a wallet full of business cards of people offering us places to stay and meals.  Tim was unable to refuse drinks from one family yesterday, and on the single road out of the valley we've crossed their path several times now to the point where it's like seeing old friends.

There are a lot of sights and sounds of Pakistan that I'm not mentioning.  A 15-cent lunch of freshly fried samosa, thick potato wedges, and chicken pakoras wrapped up in newsprint; biking past glaciers that come down to the road and then continue on the other side; cricket being played both on and off the highway; children chasing the bikes; standing at a monument denoting the intersection of the Karakoram, Himalaya, and Hindu Kush ranges; brightly painted trucks with horns that sounds like sound effects from a old video game; the smell of garbage; restaurants with wicked views; old-school Jeeps; bridges in various states of disrepair; handing out pens because all the kids yell "one pen"; lightning-quick hands cooking naan in a tandoori.  Did I mention the apricots?

Last night we stayed in Naran, the tourist heart of the valley, with a late-night bazaar and lots of families having fun.  Our hotel was very close to the mosque, and it felt like a dream at sun-up to hear the melodic call to prayer.  Tonight we are at Balakot, which is disappointing in comparison.  For such a beautiful valley, Balakot is an eyesore and dreary, as it was obliterated by the 2005 Kashmir earthquake and is now a bulk a tin structures that will probably never be improved.  I continue to be grateful that we live in a country with easy access to hot water, sufficient power resources, and most notably, outside of earthquake danger.

We leave the Kaghan Valley tomorrow, and continue into the hills north of Islamabad, the capital.  If all does well we will arrive in well-to-do Abbottabad, where there is of course a big tourist stop to make!

Rush hour on the Karakoram Highway

Asalaam alaykum from sunny, hot Pakistan.  We are now three days into the northern area of the country, in a regional centre called Gilgit.  It's apricot country out here!

Our first day involved a bus ride from Tashkurgan, the Chinese border town, up to the Khunjerab Pass between the two countries.  We had hoped to get off the bus at the border, where the road abruptly ends and drops off to a badly worn track of gravel, but the driver was committed to delivering the full passenger manifest to Pakistan immigration.  He even resisted my poor attempts at bribery.  It was frustrating to sit on a slow, bouncing bus for such a long descent, and even more frustrating to have to pay a "national park fee" several times higher than what local people pay, for a national park we never really saw.

We finally arrived in Sust, the Pakistan border town.  In the creaky visa office, the cheerful immigration officer opened up a big book and showed us a page listing the cost of a visa on arrival.  Canadians pay $98.  He also happily showed us that Americans pay $150, people from Luxembourg pay $3, and Japanese pay nothing.  It was all taken care of quite quickly and without the usual border bureaucracy: he handed our visas to "the boss", who, sitting at a large wooden table topped with a felt flag of Pakistan, signed in heavy ink.  We had arrived.

All frustrations evaporated the next day as soon as we got on the bikes.  Concerns about the road condition, heat, and the daunting distance ahead of us just faded away once we started moving and felt the wind in our hair.

It's worth mentioning the people of Pakistan, who have been fantastic.  This is a strange new place, to be sure: you have to be careful about talking to women, wear long sleeves, and avoid using your left hand for things.  But every child, truck driver, cricket-playing youth, lounging farmer, or road construction crew beams when they see us coming.  Even the sketchiest-looking youth grins and gives us a big "How are you?".  Most people speak manageable English, loads better than in China, and begin a conversation with a hearty handshake.

We have been staying in nice hotels, mostly because the currency is so weak and because Tim's accommodation standards are a little higher than mine.  Most places have a sort of "old-English" air about them where it seems like Phileus Fogg or the bad guy from Jumanji will walk in and go smoke cigars in the lounge.  I've been getting used to being called "Sir", and also getting the hang of the frequent tipping.  We hear stories about the days before the September 11th attacks when the hotels were filled with foreign guests.  Now their grand sitting halls stand empty, adorned with old photos of visiting Queen Elizabeth that are memories of an simpler age.

The food is very good, though the fresh curries do take some time to be prepared.  As Tim put it as we were mowing down a chicken masala: "it's amazing that President's Choice actually gets it right".  Meals are eaten with your hands, though they often give us forks.  Carpetting, decorated rooms, high-backed chairs, and outdoor terraces are a nice change from China, where you sit in a glorified cement closet on a tiny plastic stool.  We ordered beef one day, and the proprietor informed us that there hadn't been beef at the bazaar that day, so it wasn't available.  How bazaar.

Now, the road: calling the KKH a "highway" is a rather gross exaggeration.  This is a gravel path that deteriorates to a mess of sharp rocks.  Sometimes it shrinks to almost less than one lane wide due to rockfall or water damage.  It's the perfect jeep road, or maybe mountain bike.  As it is, we have had a jarring few days on the bikes, but everything continues to hold together, and today ended with a blessed 20km of fresh asphalt.  You have to give them credit as the road traverses through impossible rocky mountainous terrain, basically following river valleys since that's the only way to navigate the mountains.  Last year especially severe flooding (you might remember from the news) did a lot of damage to the region, including creating a huge 20-km lake that submerged a good chunk of the road and cutting off the northern villages.  The only option is to traverse the valley by boat, which was a nice break.  Sure doesn't look like anyone is in a hurry to make a new road around the lake, so I think our boat operator will enjoy high foreigner fares for quite some time (it was $5 each to take the hour+ boat ride, so no one is complaining, though locals pay about $1)..

We will continue south, slowly leaving the highest mountains of the world behind and entering one of the world's most densely populated plains, all the while stuffing ourselves with chapattis and mango juice.  The adventure continues.

The place where Afghanistan, Tajikistan, and Pakistan meet

So it's now 10:30pm and quite bright outside.  Here at the extreme west of China we're still on Beijing Time so the days are oddly lopsided.  I guess that's the way Mao would have wanted it.

Beijing has never seemed further away here.  Arabic text is everywhere and seeing Chinese people is rare.  Just as I was getting used to "Yakshum says", my closest effort at "hello" in Uygher, we've moved into areas that are populated by Kyrgyz people and then today, Tajiks.  All very friendly people, all with very interesting hats.  Our collection of minority people continues to expand.

Often the only way to communicate is in Chinese, though it's not anyone's first language.  We had an incredible pasta meal the other day where the 8-year old daughter was the principle translator to her mom who only spoke Kyrgyz.  I can't imagine speaking French that well in Grade 3.  We showed her Canadian money and when we gave her a quarter her face lit up with a gratitude words could not describe.  I think I will carry Canadian money when travelling from now on.  And then her mom brought out one of the best meals I have had in China so far.  The food in this part of China is very very good, maybe because it's not Chinese food.

It's also nice having another person to bike with, at the very least so the pictures of the road have something in the foreground.  Tim arrived seemingly without any effects of jet-lag, though his bike suffered a few more dings than mine in transit (Hainan Airlines).  You have someone to talk to when the road gets boring and someone to complain to when the road goes up, but you do chew through raisins and pistacchio snacks much faster.  

Not that the road has been boring (though it has gone up).  Biking past mud houses and courtyards it sometimes feels like you're looking at ancient Inca towns.  The terrain is dry, barren desert punctuated with welcome leafy oasises (oasii?  oasisees?), all against a backdrop of massive whitecapped mountains.  Sometimes it looks like their may be avalanche danger even in the middle of summer.  There are horses and mules around, and random camels grazing at the side of the road.  It is spectacular.

So here we are, in Tashkurgan, in a far corner of China within sight of the Tajik, Afghan, and Pakistani border.  Tomorrow we enter a new frontier: Pakistan.

Now there has been no mention of Pakistan in this blog up till now, and these plans may come as a bit of a surprise to some readers (of the three or four that there are).  Maybe I take things too seriously, but I imagine there will be a few grave expressions of concern: Pakistan gets a lot of news coverage, and very little of it is good.

We are going to be biking a route called the Karakoram Highway, a 1300km-long piece of tarmac linking China and Pakistan.  It is the highest international border crossing in the world, crossing the Karakoram Range, which is like the western range of the Himalayas and the home of K2 and a bunch of other really high peaks.  The road took decades to build, and I think primarily links China and Pakistan politically as friends against India.  Needless to say, it is supposed to be an incredible ride.  

It is also supposed to pass through a very stable and safe part of the country.  We are nowhere near the "war-zone" with the Afghanistan border, and the recent violence in Karachi is at the opposite end of the country.  We have researched the route and will tread carefully, but from all previous accounts the Pakistani people are very friendly.  I am hoping the scariest part of Pakistan will be just a few hours ago, explaining it all to Ma and Pa.

Onwards and upwards.  The Chinese government requires us to bus up to the border tomorrow, and from there it's downhill on "the KKH".  Couldn't be more excited to see what the road has in store.  We had a great final meal in China tonight, and tomorrow ends a memorable five months in the red country.  Zaijian China, you've been quite a place to explore.  May you live to fulfill another Five-Year Plan with great communist efficiency.

The Long and Winding Silk Road

Triumph!  Three days ago I was standing (barely) in the early evening sun at Jiayuguan Fort after having endured a 230km-day in the blazing desert heat.  I solicited a rather well-to-do Chinese tourist to take a photo of me, and it was only afterwards as I was holding my head under the running cold water in the washroom that i saw just how hagrid my appearance was.  Yesterday, when I was doing a much needed laundry, I inquired when my clothes would be ready for drying.  The hostel owner told me that they have washed the clothes three times but still the water was still coming out black.  My white biking shirt, though much improved, is still a shade of grey.

Anyway, everything was going so well on my last day of biking: on the road by 5am, a decent breeze, lots of food.  That's the one thing about biking: you can eat whatever you want, how often you want.  How many lunches can you fit into the average day?  This one had three.  Then, about 15km from Jiayuguan, the day's exertion finally caught up with me.  I pulled over to the side of the road and doused my head and then feet in a nearby stream.  Is this what you would call "hitting the wall"?  The last hour was a crawl, little by little; too close to give up and hail a pickup truck, but too far to be able to walk.  And Jiayuguan, the legendary end of the Chinese Empire and the end of my 2500km ride across Eastern Tibet?  It was okay.  Some things are best left to the imagination.

Since Jiayuguan I've taken the wimpy way (bus) to a few Silk Road stops.  The first, Dunhuang, is famous for the Mogao Grottos, ancient Buddhist shrines over 1300 years old.  As you'd imagine: just a bunch of caves, though very impressive caves.  A big part of the tour is a pavilion explaining how most texts from the famous Library Cave was taken by foreign archaeologists in the 1900s.  Chinese Nationalism knows no bounds, and I got a few dirty looks in the pavilion.  Yeah, I'd have taken a scroll if I had the chance.

The other stop, Turpan, sits at 154m below sea level and is the third lowest exposed spot on earth, and I of course get very excited about that sort of thing.  I spent the day at the expansive ruins of an old city named Jiaohe, learning about the labour-intensive system of tunnels used to supply water to people's homes (called karez), and of course eating.  Should I stop eating these delicious grapes?  I see no raisin not too.  I also say the largest aptuwa, or hand-washing kettle, in this province, of which I have included the photo for bragging rights.  Is it possible there's a larger one somewhere else in the world?  The search begins.

Then thing about the Silk Road is that you're pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  Highlights from the bus windows have been sandstorms and wind turbines.  Outside of the oasis towns, the landscape is the bleak nothingness of the Gobi desert, not terribly far off from the surface of the moon.   In fact, the moon might be an easier tourist sell, especially if the roads were comfortable.  What's incredible is that it's been the middle of nowhere for so long: people were following this arduous route across the desert over 1000 years ago.  It's hard not to be out here and captivated by that spirit of adventure.

It was a bit of a surprise to arrive in Urumqi (that 'qi' is pronounced 'chee'), the provincial capital of this region.  The guidebook absolutely crucified this place but it's a clean, bustling city with lots of nice parks and pleasant summer weather and friendly people.  It's in the northwest of China, not too far from where the Russian, Mongolian, and Kazahk border meet.  In fact, this area is celebrated (?) as being the point on Asia furthest from the ocean.  Something to feel good about, no doubt.

The best part is the food: this region of the country is dominated by the Uygher people (pronounced 'wee-ger') who are Muslim and all look like they are from Greece.  They bring a much needed alternative to Chinese food, including naan bread and kebabs.  The mix of Chinese and Uygher gives the city a cosmopolitan feel and it occurs to me that this is something I value in a city.  I ate a lot, relaxed, ran a bunch of errands.  I had hoped to end the day with the new Transformers or Harry Potter movie, but alas, movie studios like to wait a bit before they let China work their pirating magic.

From here, after Tim arrives today, the road turns west to Kashgar, at the far, far west of China.  The road doesn't turn slowly, as it's a 24-hour ride.  We'll have to talk to the driver: lets see if we can get that down to 23.