Borith Lake and Majestic Hunza — Published in The More Magazine
By: Minhaaj Rehman
Tags: Hunza, Borith Lake, Pakistan, Travel, Trekking

As I whizzed past the chilly Chilas, I was thinking about what lies ahead of me. I had never gone past the lower Kashmir let alone the princely state of Hunza before.

The thought of a medieval princely state with Mirs still perched upon the throne with riveting folklore rampant among the fair-skinned denizens of these barren mountains arose a feeling of mixed exuberance.

My passion for mountaineering and high-altitudes have taken me to scenic Zermatt where the mighty Matterhorn stands tall looking over the small but delightful town. I was charmed by the winding train rides in Austrian Alps and their funny German accent which they proudly claim to be the only way of speaking it. I drove to Norwegian fjords through a spectacular landscape driving through hordes of reindeer.

Only my homesickness grew by my interactions with the travelers who had been to Pakistan and their stories. I was told about, a world, I never knew existed very close to Nanga Parbat and the spot where the three greatest mountain ranges meet are a visual delight.

Crossing there I had spent a good half of my life. The Himalayan folklore was nothing like Bavarian dresses and customs. It was elegant, a story of perseverance, valor, and belief, very different from pastoral Gesellschaft of the Alps. I was northbound to one of the remotest city in Hunza called Shimshal, a good 80 km off the Karakoram Highway, the city is known for its remoteness and peace. Chronicles from Mustansar Hassan Tarrar and word of mouth were intriguing enough to lure me away from touristic routes and places without a story.

Even though it was only in the coming hours that my destiny was revealed to me. After a rainy and rocky journey to serene Dasu, we hit a stop because of a landslide. An ironic felicity subdued me from my natural confusion over the time it took to clear that up. That was something that would never happen in The Alps but again, I was on a journey like Frodo and fewer chances of rescue meant a slightly more palatable sense of adventure.

As I perched on a rock with a local Baba willing to impart his wisdom through his wizened eyes the tumultuous Indus river kept roaring, a kind of unintimidated welcome only for the brave. As our happy caravan set off again, among them the older, grunted despise for the inconvenience they have had to endure. Our public transport snaked along the miraculous KKH. The miraculous highest paved international highway, it’s sometimes sarcastically called the joy-ride to death.

It takes a type of sadistic pleasure to enjoy a barricade-less treacherous ride that can punish your reluctance in a lethal manner. Connecting Islamabad to historic Kashgar, KKH was ranked 3rd among best tourist attractions in Guardian. Catching glimpses of snow-clad Diamir district, we entered into the fairy tale state of Gilgit. The Alps were already fading away by the majestic elevations of the terrain.

The tallest rock sculpture of the Swiss Alps, Mont Blanc, which literally means ‘White Mountain’ stands at an elevation of 4807 meters and I was struggling to find a peak that was below that altitude already in Gilgit. After an acclimatization overnighter, I took a local bus to Aliabad, the de facto capital of Hunza state. A great travel tip that has always served me well from good old days as ‘Do in Rome as the Romans do’. A simple shalwar kameez and low profile will do you wonders.

Showing off your Northface climbing gear will only make you another tourist, the ones infamous for their Mallorca style havoc. My new travel partner in Aliabad, which I befriend over a cup of tea in a local bus stop cum hotel was heading towards a small village called Shiskat in Attabad Lake. A lake that was supposed to be a part of KKH before a disastrous landslide in January 2010. Attabad village came crumbling down onto the road merging it with the river leaving behind a 23 KM lake with changing watercolors.

As with us Pakistanis, when life gives us lemons we make a perfect lemonade. Years from the incident there are boats that take in cars, cattle, motorbikes, luggage and sometimes a moving hotel across the lake. As we sat and sipped our strong teas, entered a lanky young lad over-tanned with high-altitude sun and a hazel-eyed, blond foreigner. They ensconced themselves in seats and ordered some snacks as the foreigner started talking to an eager youth.