Chitral in winter
It was time to go back to the adventurous world of the Pakistani mountains, so John and I left the hustle and bustle of Peshawar and went to Dir, where we met the most unfriendly guesthouse owner of my entire Pakistan trip, the only thing he liked about foreigners was their money, but fuck it, it was only one night anyway, so what!
I had heard already during my time in Gilgit-Baltistan that the winter of 91/92 had been a harsh one with lots of snow and spring coming late to the mountains of Pakistan that year, so we knew already what was ahead of us if we wanted to make it to Chitral, the pass could not be crossed by car yet, so we would have to cross on foot, Chilkoot style.
Now they have the Lowari-Tunnel, apparently making Chitral accessible by car all year, but in 1992 it was either flying or walking, so we opted for walking.
We took a public jeep from Dir toward the pass, it took us as far as the road conditions permitted, then we joined the long line of Pakistani and Afghan tribesmen walking uphill to the pass through the snow.
When we reached the pass we stopped for a break, looking down on the other people who still had ahead of them what we already had conquered.
John and I had put our backpacks on some rocks where the sun had melted the snow, when suddenly a guy taller than me approached us, went to my backpack, grapped it with one hand and wanted to nonchalantly swing it over his shoulder. He could hardly move it. He looked at me in surprise, used both hands now and was able to lift it. He put it back to the ground, nodded respectfully toward me and went back to his Mujahiddin friends who were resting in some distance. It looked like he was telling them about his experience because he kept pointing to me and the backpack during his story, obviously impressed by the fact that I had carried this much weight up to the pass. I don´t remember how much weight, but probably 25 kilos, with tent, sleeping bag, stove, etc, the kilos add up quickly.
After some rest we continued downhill on the Chitral side until we reached the spot were the road was accessible by car again and some jeeps were waiting already to bring us to Chitral.
After a few miles on the mountain road we suddenly saw a Western cyclist. His mountain bike was lying at the side of the road and he was lying behind it, taking cover like a cowboy behind his horse when the Apaches attack, and under attack he was.
The driver stopped and one of the Pakistani passengers asked the cyclist
“Can we help you, sir?“
The cyclist was not amused.
“Shoot those damn kids!“ he shouted.
The Pakistani guy laughed and then our jeep took off, leaving the cyclist at the mercy of his tormentors.
All over the world boys come up with naughty stuff and in the mountains of Pakistan the local pastime for boys was throwing stones at Western cyclists.
You don´t stand a chance.
On an uphill route, up the steep slopes of the mountain highways those boys will outrun any cyclist crawling up there, making him fish in a barrel.
What looked funny to us from the safety of our jeep and also accompanied by local men who would beat the shit out of them boys if they dared to throw a stone against the jeep, was quite nasty for this poor cyclist pinned down by stones flying around him.
When the jeep approached, the boys had stopped throwing stones and hid behind some rocks, but when we left I could see them attacking again.
But the cyclist survived.
We met him later again in our guesthouse where he told us that boys throwing stones were his greatest challenge in Pakistan, not only in the mountains but also in the plains were once he was hit by a stone on the forehead causing a gushing wound. The boy who threw the stone was mortified when he saw what he had done, but this did not save him from his father´s wrath who probably gave him the worst beating ever, right in front of the cyclist to make the boy pay for his act.
Cyclists were advised to not wear cycling shorts in Pakistan, because those shorts looked like underwear to those boys, making a man on a bike in “underwear“ a freak to be pelted with stones.
Our cyclist was wearing the traditional Pakistani mountain attire, not shorts, but still, the boys figured him out as a foreigner and thought him to be fair game.
Chitral in summer
Since this has now become a serious series of even more serious travelling,
check out the last part too.
There you will also find a link to the previous parts.
