A Quick
Trip into the Lower Himalayas
By Randall D.
Ball
Early Monday morning, the day after Easter, we joined a small tour group
(our family of four, fellow teachers at LAS Sara and Rose, our guide Arshad, a
security guard Hossnain, and a driver Haroon) for a trip up north into the
Himalayas. Our first day was mostly
driving: four hours to Islamabad via
motorway, breakfast, then another two and a half hours up the more winding
Kashmir Road to Nathiagali. We relaxed
that afternoon, enjoying the mountain view from our hotel room (Hotel Elites,
which was nice enough but not quite up to its name) and only going out briefly
for dinner (pizza and ice cream about a five-minute drive down the mountain at
a little place called Sweet Tooth, where I ran into three students, of
course—no escaping them!).
Tuesday was a day in
Nathiagali. After breakfast at the
hotel, we spent the morning walking up a little mountain road to St. Mathew’s
Church, no longer in operation, just a tourist site now. Once we found the watchman, who kindly let us
in once he hear foreigners were there to see it, we were allowed inside. Built in 1914 by the British, the church
stands tall along a mountain ridge surrounded by cedars and pines...and a barbed wire fence. After a good Pakistani lunch (redundant, I
know), we then hiked up the steep trail toward Mukshpuri. At the trailhead, there is a fork—both trails
lead to the same spot, but one is a more gradual (and thus longer but easier)
climb. I could have sworn the guide told
us we were taking the easier climb, but from the start, it looked like the
steeper version. About half way up,
Anastasia was done, and I gladly offered to stay behind with her while the
others continued upwards, although they didn’t make it to the top either. Anastasia has this fairly-recent fear of
heights, unfortunately, which was severely tested on this trip. She also spent a lot of time worrying: that we wouldn’t make it down the trail
before dark and they’d close the gate and we’d have to sleep in the mountains,
that an earthquake might split the mountain in two while we were up there, that
a rock might slide down and squish us, and so forth. She has quite the imagination—I’ll give her
that. Talula, meanwhile, was loving the
snow—and our guide Arshad. She talked
his ear off and spent a lot of time hanging out with him, seldom leaving his
side. He was very good with her, though,
and I know she loved the attention.
Dinner that night was back at Sweet Tooth, but we only felt like ice
cream. I teased Anastasia that we didn’t
earn all of our ice cream and would just have to share one.
Wednesday was another long drive
day, through winding roads with the speed-demon driver Haroon. We drove through Abbottabad (yes, that
Abbottabad), Mansehra, Balakot (the Kunhar
River swiftly churns through the middle of town, and there are some fun-looking
bridges in the vicinity, including an adventurous suspension bridge or two),
and finally up some serious switch-backs to Kiwai, a little village where some
restaurants have set up tables at the base of a series of waterfalls. The main reason for Kiwai’s existence,
however, is that this is where jeep excursions often begin. We had to leave our van behind and take jeeps
eight kilometers up the mountain to Shogran, our mountaintop resort, where we
stayed at the Cedarwood Chair Lift Resort.
Just as the previous hotel didn’t quite live up to its name, this one
also lacked something in its name: the chair
lift. We could see part of what once was
a chair lift, but it looked as if they built only part of it several years ago
and then just let it sit. Funding
problem, perhaps...or an unexpected issue with land rights? The rooms were nothing spectacular—and the
bathrooms were falling apart and leaking away, but the view was truly
awesome. We were on a little green
plateau at about 8000 feet above sea level, surrounded by much taller
snow-capped mountain peaks. No matter
which direction you looked, you’d see these huge mountains jutting into the
sky—we were in the Himalayas. (Just
barely, but we were in them).
The following day, we returned
to the jeeps, but this time, the track was much rougher as we slowly bumped and
were jostled and tossed about as we made our way up Siri Paye. The jeeps could only take us part of the
way. Then we were dropped off, exchanged
our shoes for hiking boots (and walking sticks), and started trekking up the
mountain “road” with its mud, snow, ice, and horse poop (you can also ride up
and down if you’re not into walking). We
spent the day up in the mountains, with the girls having snowball fights and
playing (and Anastasia often forgetting her phobia). We saw Siri Lake, a picturesque pond really
(if it weren’t for the trash that we’ve come to expect in the third world), but
never made it as far as Payee Lake. Talula
also rode a horse briefly—she couldn’t decide which she liked more—snow or
horses? (Or Arshad).
Friday, it felt as if we were
going in reverse, but in double time. We
took the jeeps back down the mountain, re-joined our van in Kiwai, and made our
way back down to the Kaghan Valley and through all those village towns to
Abbottabad, where we then took the motorway back to Lahore. Eleven hours later, we were home, with two
more days of spring break to recuperate and relax before those final weeks of
school before summer break.
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