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.
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