Pakistan - it's a man's world

The last update came from Dharamsala in northern India, where I was enjoying a few days of R&R at the excellent Hotel Akant Lodge after a tough week in the Spiti Valley. I changed the oil at a local workshop. The oil filter on the Transalp is not well protected by the bashplate, and it had obviously seen a few big rocks - it was totally bent out of shape, but fortunately it wasn't punctured. From there, we had a relaxing day's ride down to Amritsar except for the last 100km where we were playing Tata-roulette with big trucks overtaking cars, bicycles, ox-carts... I'm now in Gilgit in the far north of Pakistan after a mad dash up the Karakorum highway - more of that later - and I'm planning to stay here for a week before travelling back through Baluchistan to Iran.

Amritsar was a bit of a pilgrimage. In September 1997 I stayed at Mrs Bandari's guest house, where I met an Australian couple travelling up to Europe on a BMW motorcycle. That was the inspiration for this trip, so I was keen to stay there again. We camped in the beautiful gardens, and although it is no longer mentioned in the Lonely Planet, it is still as welcoming as I remember it, even though Mrs Bandari died a couple of years ago (aged 101).

Through a connection, we were able to visit a company in Jalandar than builds buses for Mercedes Benz India. The road from Amritsar to Jalandar was one of the most dangerous I've seen - it's under construction, and every few kilometres it switches from dual carriageway to contraflow with no warning - total chaos at 100kph... Indian drivers really are the worst I have experienced in any country, and after weeks of pent up road rage, I finally lost it and landed a well-placed boot in the passenger door of a Maruti Suzuki that had cut me up (if they're within range, they're fair game in my book)...

The Sutlej bus factory in Jalandar was a trip. We were hosted by Bernard, an engineer who had been sent by Mercedes to teach the Indians how to build buses like the Germans. After two years he was reaching the conclusion that this was an impossible task. He was under a lot of pressure because the order book was fairly thin and the family obviously had complete faith in this German whizz to rescue the company. He told us about all the challenges he faced - he had even been attacked by buzzards that were circling overhead. Just as we were preparing to leave, there was a swoosh and another buzzard swooped down and took a chunk out of his scalp! "OK", he says, "now I get a gun!"

Next day we took a quick look at the Golden Temple, and headed to the Pakistan border at Wagah. We were warmly greeted at the Pakistan side with a plate of gulub jamun. At 6:30pm the flag ceremony began , with large crowds on either side of the fence to watch the rabble-rousing chants, pythonesque high-stepping, and haka-like grimacing that is the nightly closing of the border.

Bordering on the ridiculous...

From there, it was a quick dash to Lahore to stay at the Regal Internet Inn, which seems to be the place to stay (which makes me wonder what the other hotels in the city are like). Already, Pakistan felt totally different to India - the city was more open and modern, the welcomes were warmer, and in the evening the smell of beef on the barbecue was never far away (as opposed to the smell of burning plastic).

On Wednesday, our group had a big parting of ways, with three of the Germans starting on the 3-4 day trip to the Iranian border. I headed north with Thomas Bohn, hereafter known as 'T-bone' or 'Boner' ('TaliBohn' was also considered but we're not making those jokes right now). The motorway to Islamabad begins with 3 lanes in either direction but we soon discovered that this was no autobahn as we encountered donkey-carts, tractors travelling in the wrong direction, buses stopping to pick up school kids in the fast lane, and even an old man salvaging grains of wheat from a broken sack in the middle of the road. Not to mention the speed bumps...

Islamabad is a new city build specifically for government buildings, and looks suspiciously like Milton Keynes. We stayed at the much heralded Tourist Campsite which was a huge disappointment. The manager was extremely beligerant, told us Islamabad was not safe, and then insisted that we camp right next to the road in the filthiest part of his near-empty campsite. Now I'm no security expert, but I quite liked the idea of putting the French motorhome between my tent and the road in case the bullets started flying. A brief stand-off occurred, but suddenly we were best of friends and I could camp wherever I wanted. We shared the campsite with one French and one German couple who had spent 10 days there and quite liked it (why?????), and about 30 Frontier Constabulary troops who had clearly not been told that it's impolite to point an automatic rifle at your midriff while they're practising their English with you. And they had made a real mess of the toilet block...

Next day I headed to the Iranian Embassy to pick up my visa. When I asked if I could collect my passport the same day, I was given the ambiguous 'Inshallah, inshallah' and sent off to deposit money in a local bank and make photocopies of my passport. Well bugger Inshallah, because after 2 hours of waiting around I was told it would be ready the next working day, and because it was a Thursday that meant Monday. I was not inclined to hang around in Islamabad for 4 days, so I grabbed my passport back and by 12:30 we were heading at full speed for the Karakoram Highway.

We were hoping to cover some ground and possibly reach Bisham by nightfall, but at the first stop for petrol we were ushered into a very smart office by a very important looking gentleman who welcomed us warmly to Pakistan, gave us a glass of apple juice, and insisted that on our return trip we come and stay in his village. That pretty much set the tone for the whole journey - every time the bike stops, people are very keen to have a conversation. At Haripur we stopped for lunch, and when we told the locals that were we planning to stay in Bisham, they laughed and said "Taliban! Taliban!". Good joke, guys...

In the end, we only made it as far as Mansehra, where we stayed at the overpriced Karakoram Hotel. I was not much reassured by the old guy at the gate with a double-barrelled shotgun, but at least he was first in the firing line if there was any trouble. Next day, we set off at 6am because we wanted to cover the entire 460km to Gilgit. We knew that the road would be rough and is prone to landslides, and we had to run the gauntlet through the Swat District and Kohistan, which are not known to be particularly tourist friendly. I had read online that the Pakistani Army was currently engaged in a full-scale offensive against the Taliban in the Swat Valley, and although the highway passes through the Swat District about 50km from the front line, it runs along a parallel valley (the Indus river) and is not affected by the fighting.

No left turn...

I was a little on edge when I saw a company of Pakistani soldiers on patrol with weapons drawn, but the only trouble we experienced was with the Pashtun kids, who are crack shots with their catapults. Fortunately, at 60kph I am safely out of range by the time the little buggers have loaded. This is not so good for T-bone who usually rides behind me, and he took three direct hits...

We made good time and by mid-afternoon we were out of the North West Frontier Province and into the Northern Areas, which are a lot more friendly. The whole ride up the Karakoram along the Indus river was beautiful, and late in the day we were treated to a great view of Nanga Parbat, the 9th highest mountain in the world at over 8,100 metres. Arriving in Gilgit was fantastic - it's a vibrant, friendly town. We checked in at the Madina Hotel, an overlanders' favourite, where the staff are totally in tune with the needs of the long distance traveller. I think it's my favourite hotel on the entire journey so far. There's a Slovakian couple travelling to India by Jeep, and a German girl travelling alone through Pakistan on a Transalp (truly hardcore!).

In the Hindu Kush, with man's best friend...

We hung around in Gilgit for a few more days to catch the start of the polo season, which was fairly full-on - I think Prince Charles would have been lucky to escape with just a broken arm playing with this lot.

I hope those things have better brakes than my Transalp...

Then we pushed further north to the Chinese border and the Khunjerab Pass - the highest point on the trip so far at 4,800 metres (and boy was it cold...). Unfortunately it's nearly impossible to get permission to take vehicles into China so we had to turn back, but since there were no guards at the border, we thought nobody would mind if we just went a little bit further...

At 4,800 metres in China

I may already have waxed lyrical about the Himalayas in Nepal and India, but the Hindu Kush is really something else - photos don't do it justice, but I'm told that the Hunza Valley was the inspiration for James Hilton's Shangri-La.

Rakaposhi - from my hotel balcony...

Next stop is Peshawar - I know it's a little dicey at the moment, but we have a guide lined up who has promised to keep us out of trouble...

Incredible India

OK, I admit to having been a bit skeptical about India. Overlanders don't always give it a good write-up, complaining about terrible driving, the overcrowded cities, and the oppressive heat. But while I've experienced a bit of each of these (and a lot of the first), India has turned out to be (as advertised) an incredible experience.

I'll pick up the story in Pokhara, Nepal. After doing the Jomson Trek with the Germans on rented mopeds, I headed west with them to Mahendranagar and the Indian border. The Nepali immigration folks were not too impressed that I had overstayed my visa by 5 days, and slapped me with a $45 fine before I could leave the country.

And I thought my ass was hairy (sorry mum!)

Across the border into India, the plan was to push on along the 74 Highway towards Dehradun, but navigating in India was a nightmare . Entering a town, we were typically faced with a crossroad. Straight ahead would lead into the market and a maze of alleys, leaving a choice of left or right, with no signposts to indicate which one would lead back to the 74. Furthermore, the 'main' (i.e., paved) road took long detours away from the route that was marked on the map as the 74. Eventually, we all ended up in Kashipur, having made much slower progress than expected and having taken a variety of roads to get there!

From Kashipur, I had resolved to split from the Germans and go solo again. I really wanted to see Dehradun and Rishikesh, where the Beatles stayed in an ashram and wrote a lot of the White Album. But Rishikesh turned out to be a fairly unremarkable (i.e., unpleasant) Indian town, and Dehradun turned out to be a fairly unremarkable (i.e., unpleasant) Indian city. To make matters worse, I didn't have a Lonely Planet for the area, so finding a reasonable hotel was hard work.

Next morning, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself - I realised that I was actually missing the Germans! Traveling solo in SE Asia was a lot of fun because it was never difficult to find a bar and meet the locals or other travellers. But India is different - people don't seem to go out and enjoy themselves, so meeting people is more of a challenge. Additionally, I was planning to ride the Spiti Valley, but I didn't want to do it alone because it involved about 800km in some very remote areas. So my solo travel lasted just 24 hours, and in Shimla I met up with the Germans again.

Shimla was a lot more pleasant than Dehradun, and I stayed at the charming Spar's Lodge. Parking was on the street, but the hotel was opposite the Lieutenant General's house, and the Gurkha sentries were more than happy to keep an eye on the bike. In Shimla, I finally had a breakthrough in the Great Tyre Hunt. I had heard of a guy called Vijay Parmar who runs a rally each year called the Raid de Himalaya. Turns out that Vijay is quite well known, because when I asked at the hotel if they knew where I could find him, they directed me straight to Motoworld, his workshop.

Vijay turned out to be quite a character. He told me all about the Raid de Himalaya, in which 150 motorbikes and 4WDs race around the mountains. It's been running for 10 years and has an attrition rate of 75%. He gave us a lot of information on our planned tour of the Spiti Valley, and confirmed which passes were closed. He loaded some of the rally stages onto my GPS for us to follow. But most importantly, Vijay had a couple of spare rear tyres that would fit my Transalp, so I was able to leave his workshop with a nearly new Bridgestone BattleWing - perhaps a bit too road-oriented for riding in the Spiti Valley, but hopefully good enough to get me as far as Turkey. As for the front tyre, it will just have to last (I don't use it that much anyway, heh heh). I also blagged a set of rear brake pads from the Germans (just trying to lighten their load...).

Race HQ for the Raid de Himalaya

In Shimla, we had a couple of encounters with other overland bikers. I was parking my bike near The Mall when I saw a yellow BMW 1200GS. Turned out it was Pascal and Arja. They're riding from Australia to Europe too, and we had exchanged emails a few times previously. A couple of hours later, another BMW saw our bikes parked at the side of the road and pulled up - this time it was Mark and Maggie Alsenbach, who are also doing Australia-Europe. I'd spoken with Mark a few times in preparation for the trip. So we had our biggest overlanders dinner since Bangkok, with nine attendees, and probably had the biggest party that sleepy Shimla has seen for some time...

Next morning we set off for the Spiti Valley. We knew that we couldn't complete the loop from Shimla to Manali because an 18km stretch between the Kunzum and Rohtung Passes was still and would not be open for another month. But we planned to do about 90% of the loop and turn back at Losar. On the first day, we covered about 150km to Sangkla. We stopped for lunch in Nagarta, where we ran into Drew, who had travelled up from Delhi alone and was a regular rider in the area. It was really nice to meet an Indian that showed a genuine enthusiasm for our trip - just like in Nepal, the locals normally skip any kind of welcome or introduction, and launch straight into the Three Questions ("How much does your bike cost?", "What mileage can it do?", "How many cc?"). Drew and I agreed to ride to Leh in a couple of years on Royal Enfields, and it's a commitment I intend to keep!

On the final stretch, we got our first taste of some of the terrain we would encounter... dirt road carved into a vertical cliff face... with no barriers... and blind hairpins... with the occasional oncoming truck to add a bit more excitement. That night, we stayed at the Hotel Kinner Kailash, where the staff were excellent, the dal baht was delicious, and we were given plenty of blankets because we were already at 2,800 metres.

View from the Hotel Kinner Kailash, Sangkla

You can just make out the road near the top of the picture... and the river 500 metres below

Next day we continued to the end of the road at Chitkul, where the mountain views were stunning. We then turned around and headed to Nako, hacking our way through some massive construction sites where new hydro-electric plants were being built. Half of India's entire electricity consumption is generated in this area, so there's a lot of activity. But past Pooh, the dams end and the landscape is beautiful.

Nako at dawn

After Nako, we rode on to Kaza. We arrived mid-afternoon, and decided to try one of the loops in the Raid de Himalaya that goes up to Kibber, the world's highest motorable village, and to the monasteries at Kibber and Komik.

The Spiti Valley - no further comment required!

The road was pretty treacherous - it hadn't been cleared of landslides so we were bouncing over 6-inch rocks on precarious tracks with some pretty hairly drop-offs. If that wasn't challenging enough, we were now above the snowline and meltwater made the track extremely muddy - I was starting to regret having switched to road tyres in Shimla. At Komik, the GPS showed that we were at almost 4,500 metres. The thin air didn't really bother me, but the Transalp was struggling, even in first gear. At the monastery in Komik, we were invited in for chai by the friendly monks. 200 metres later, the road was completely blocked by snow - end of the ride, and we backtracked to Kaza.

All-conquering heroes...

We'd heard that the road was blocked with snow about 10km past Losar, and if we couldn't make it all the way to Manali, we were determined at least to ride to the very end. Past Losar, the track got very bad - we were hacking through 10ft snow cuttings, and snow and meltwater was making for very slippery conditions.

Fine line between bravery and stupidity...


Better than skiing


Where we came from...


... and where we'd like to go

Eventually we reached the end of the line, just as promised. The road crew got quite a surprise when four bikes slithered around the final bend, but we received a warm welcome and chai all round.

End of the line - with the road clearing crew

It was 3pm and we were exhausted by the time we got back to Kaza, so we decided to stay another night . I didn't mind the fact that we were retracing our steps, because the scenery was so beautiful and it was worth enjoying the views from the other direction. At Sumdo, Claus decided he wanted to see the Tibet border, so we headed off along a side road. Just past the village of Gua, a concerned looking Indian soldier came running over, and we were invited to join him in his bunker for a chat.

Are you sure that you're not Chinese spies?

The conversation went something like this:

Concerned Indian Soldier: "What are you doing here? Don't you know this is a restricted area?"

Overland Biker: "Er, we wanted to have a look at Tibet"

CIS: "You must leave this area immediately. Would you like a cup of chai?"

OB: "Yes please!"

CIS: "Would you like to have a look at a 500-year old mummy?"

OB: "Why not!"

And that's how we found a 500-year old Tibetan mummy...

We finished our Spiti Valley tour with a night at the Golden Apple in Kalpa, which is a beautiful town just north of Rekong Peo. We then cut up the Tirthan valley and over the Jalori Pass. Already the countryside looked very different - much greener and more fertile. We camped by a reservoir in Largi, and pressed on to McLeod Ganj, just north of Dharamsala, a Tibetan community where the Dalai Lama lives in exile (and a very well-developed tourist spot). I'd been here 12 years ago - it's a fabulous part of India and it was fun to retrace my steps. A rest day gave me the opportunity to change the oil (lightening the German's load by a further 3kg - didn't they realise you can buy oil in India???!!!) and clean the air filter. Next stop is Amritsar, and then on to... Pakistan!