Dry beyond exhaustion I stepped aside for the old-man. Everything was ancient about him but his eyes. He mocked my youth with them and said "thuk gaya??". Just as I was about to reply my eyes fell upon the otherwise unmissable load of wood on his back. I was speechless and pointed to my bottle of water as I shook my head, indicating that I was just excercising the proper manners of drinking water; sitting down. It was then that I re-realised that a blow to one's ego is enough to rejuvenate. I shall come back to this after I've described the horror of the 2 day bus-ride to our destination. The ride to Karimabad was spent in a haze, with short-term anticipations of food and long-term anticipations of clean, humanly accessable/useable toilet facilities. The trip made sure that we don't anticipate either ever again. The one night stay at Bisham is probably my worst night this year. Now I know how homeless people feel. Having no place to sleep and eyelids dropping by the weight of several anvils. Also, it was the first that I was introduced to the 'Aalo Anday' dish. Eggs and Potatoes. Yuck is the first thought that comes to mind. But I wasn't thinking when I ate my first roti. The first plan of action upon reaching Karimabad was climatizing. Acclimating oneself to the umm washrooms and the water that resides therein. Cold showers with grey water. It's clean drinking water they said. I did want to believe them but water's supposeds to be nothing but crystal. Then there was the Baltit fort, which I visited twice. Once with friends and the second time with friends and the Chief Justice. The guide was clearly more relaxed the first time. He was making jokes then. The second time it was the Chief Justice who was making the jokes. Almost everyone laughed both times. The Trek to Rakhaposhi's basecamp was indescribable. Tired and alone, having eaten just a brownie for breakfast and carrying a miscalculated amount of supplies, I enjoyed every bit of it. Even when it was raining and I had no waterproof clothing. You walk better when you're tired. Four hours was the turn around time and I went all the way. Almost all the way.
The first climb was all sand and dust and rocks and wind. You asking yourself "why am I here?" is inevtible. But patience bears sweet fruit, as the walk for the next couple of hours can be described as nothing short of magical. Walking almost at the foot of snow capped mountains, apparently at an arms reach, has to be magical. In short, I'd do it again. But the end, the last climb throug the moraine along with the weather caught me off-guard with my time calculations and I had to turn around but not without another view fixing itself at the back of my mind. The walk back was uneventful, except for a donkey urinating in a stream. And on my climb down from the huge compilation of barren rock and sand I met the old man who inquired if I was tired. He was carrying five times the load I was. I pretended (oh, so badly) that I was fit and that I had just stopped for a water break.
The Trek to Ultar Meadows the next day was pretty much uneventful except for the initial dangerous climb onto the track. I don't have the vocabulary to elaborate on that bit, and I don't want to bore my self by writing about it. Skipped.
After this trip my knowledge about precious and semi-precious stones has increased ten-fold. Err I won't elaborate on how though... not now.
The return stop at Bisham was another high point in the trip. I decided not to sleep the night again and make up for lost sleep during the bus ride to Islamabad. We climbed down to the Canadian-like artificial beach next to the hotel and the dam construction. It wasn't even sunrise and the water was COLD. There was a late realization that I was walking in the river Indus, that's a thought. I put my foot in Indus. All ten toes.. hence in-'dus' . These names make sense all of the sudden. This wasn't really a beach, it was a riverside.. literally.. but I'll call it a beach. It would beat most beaches, especially the Clifton beach in Karachi. Bisham Beach.
At Islamabad we witnessed the most avidly anticipated wait for food at KFC. Nothing more, nothing less.
The should've been easy ride to Lahore was torturous thanks to horrible music and dead battery on my mp3 player. Not being ungrateful, I'm glad I didn't have to sit through the repetitive Abrar ul Haq tape and the circus that came along with it for the other four fifths of the way. Not meaning stamp on anyone's feelings but that's just not for me.
Upon reaching Lahore one felt relief and grief. You never associate the two with the city. And after that I slept and watched the World Cup. Forza azzurri!
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