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 ChinaI 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...
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