Abbas ran a very good hotel and the fort was a fine and well kept establishment. He employed a great chef and the four of us thoroughly enjoyed breakfast in the restaurant of the old fort. The meal included also some traditional local dishes. I was especially interested in two dishes - Keseer, a local buckwheat cake (made with egg, buckwheat flour, mint and apricot oil) and Xerchuoung (deep fried sweet morsels made from egg, white flour, honey and oil).

Following a leisurely breakfast we farewelled Abbas who had been a wonderful and genial host and headed to Skardu where we had booked flights to Islamabad. We drove through the hectic Khaplu village before journeying back along the same Shyok River road that we travelled on to Khaplu. Again, it was a relaxing and picturesque drive alongside the river lined with terraced farms and ripening barley crops.

Our flight to Islamabad was not leaving until early afternoon so we spent time having tea at the Concordia Hotel at Skardu. It did not really improve our image of Skardu. The hotel was rather neglected and the views from the hotel were of the sullen grey waters of the Indus River. It was actually quite depressing.

While Sadruddin was talking with the manager of the hotel, we were approached by a young man who politely asked if he could talk with us. We agreed. Karim told us that he was a graduate in engineering from Lahore University who was looking for work and asked us if we could we help him. He showed us a very tatty, much copied curriculum vitae and lamented how difficult it was for him to obtain work. He was very convincing and we felt sorry for this young man's plight. Alan and I tried to suggest places such as NGO's that he could try for employment but in the end I couldn't stand hearing about his sad life and gave him the equivalent of AUS $10 - for which he appeared to be very grateful. And Alan thought I was stark raving mad.

Sadruddin later appeared and we introduced him to our new friend. We were quite surprised that Sadruddin was not at all friendly to this young man. Karim left rather abruptly which further surprised us.

Travelling toward Skardu airport, Sadruddin explained that there were many young men like Karim who target foreigners with fake qualifications and try to gain their sympathy - and a donation. I didn't dare tell Sadruddin that I had just given Karim some money - let alone a very generous one by Pakistani standards..... And even if this was the case, I couldn't blame him for trying to con us. After all, he didn't ask for anything. Or perhaps he didn't quite get around to asking before I offered...

The day was mild and pleasant and for a change we were not at all worried about weather problems with our flight to Islamabad. And so all of us were more than shocked to hear that it was cancelled - again for no apparent reason. I began to think I should have been more forthright with the Pakistan National Television News interviewer the day before. In fact it was such a shock that Sadruddin did not believe the guard outside the airport and went into the terminal himself just to make sure. And yes, it was cancelled. The sad news meant we had to endure another two-day arduous drive staying overnight at Chilas, to Islamabad and travelling over much of the territory we had previously journeyed along. The flight however would have taken just one hour. We were desperately disappointed as we had time constraints to be in Lahore. Sadruddin was furious. And he was right. It is this type of bureaucratic nonsense which makes it almost impossible for any sort of viable tourism in Pakistan.

Our driver Khaja looked despondent. Apparently he does not speak English but when we asked him how long it would take to drive to Chilas we were astounded when he said in perfect English "at least ten hours". It was of course not so much the distance from Skardu to Chilas but the dreadful spine killing trip we had to make to get there that took the time. And for Khaja, who lived in the Hunza, it meant a long and arduous drive to Islamabad and another night away from home.

The trip involved following the Indus River road west toward the Karakoram Highway which links Islamabad to China. We would then head south along the highway to Chilas, a place at which we were not especially keen to stay. But we had no choice.

The beginning of the drive from Skardu was through pretty country with high terraced farms above the sheer cliffs of the Indus River. Like most of North Pakistan, it seemed that every bit of land along the river was farmed with cereal crops and orchards. We met with the usual frequent herds of goats and yaks who calmly blocked the entire road. These animals sure have attitude! In the background were steep snow clad mountains.

We stopped for lunch at the PTDC Hotel at Ashok to find a Chinese tour group dining in the same restaurant. It was quite amazing. The tour guide took one look at Alan and said "I know you - I saw your photo in a book only yesterday!" As it happened, the guide worked for our travel agent and only the day before had looked through my travelogue that we had given to Ishaq as a gift. I must say that it was rather a surprise to us meeting anyone in this part of the world who recognised one of us. The Chinese tourists were mainly young men and were very friendly and charming. They looked especially pleased but somewhat surprised when we told them that we love China and visit nearly every year.

The scenery from Ashok then became more familiar with bare rocky and scree covered mountains and a steep rough winding road alongside the now rapidly flowing steely waters of the Indus. Sadruddin pointed out what looked like eroded cavities in the impossibly steep rocky mountains on the other side of the Indus. On closer examination you could just see equipment and cave like dwellings. Apparently the cavities and caves were aquamarine mines. Just how anyone could climb there, let along live there was beyond us.


In the late afternoon we reached the intersection of the Skardu Road and the Karakoram Highway. It is also where the Indus and the Gilgit Rivers meet. The Karakoram Highway is no four lane expressway; in most places it is a rocky, spine jarring track. The trip was long and painful.

It was almost dark by the time we had reached the outskirts of Chilas. Khaja stopped for fuel while we remained in the car. While waiting we noticed with some alarm a very agitated young man who was arguing wildly with another person who was obviously trying to calm him down. In fact he was physically trying to restrain him. The agitated young man was pointing at our car and gesticulating madly. Goodness knows what it was about but we found it very disturbing as we know that Chilas is not a welcoming town for foreigners. We were very pleased to leave the fuel station.

Some 20 kilometers from Chilas our car began to make a loud thumping noise from what sounded like one of the wheels. In fact we really thought that we had a flat tyre. It was not a great place to break down, being not far from the village of Gunar Fom where 40 Shiites were murdered just some months before. Khaja pulled the car to the side of the road but it was really dangerous as it was on the end of a very narrow bend which would have been quite a blind corner. By then it was totally dark. Alan insisted that we get out of the car and sit away from it as it was in such a dangerous location. I strongly disagreed, thinking that I would rather be run into rather than murdered. Needless to say, we sat on the roadside.

Khaja immersed himself under the car for what seemed forever. At last a smiling Sadruddin came to us saying that it was just a stick that had jammed into one of the wheels. We were not convinced. We later found out it was a wheel bolt that had snapped.

Somehow the car hobbled the 20 or so kilometers to our hotel at Chilas. As on our forward journey, the manager was very welcoming and we enjoyed a good meal.

Sadruddin informed us that we would be staying in the new accommodation, while he would stay in the old section. Goodness knows what Sadruddin had to cope with but our room included a cement enclosed bed and quite frankly it was very dirty. Why anyone would enclose a bed in cement we could not imagine. We couldn't even call it a curiousity. As usual none of the power points worked properly. Our plugs would just fall out and so Alan as usual had to create some pretty elaborate methods so we could dry our hair. It was a very hot night and cooling in our room was provided by an enormous loud roaring fan, some one meter in diameter and strong enough to jet propel any aircraft. Well, that is when we had power.... Alan was not a happy person. At least he hadn't hit his head on this visit.

Travel in Pakistan can be very, very trying.



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