 From Tashkughan China to Karimabad Pakistan
Chilly gray dawn in Tashkurghan.
The generator was off. Our omelets were cooked over an open fire in the kitchen and eaten
in the twilight. Yesterday's grumpy travelers were lively with the news: the weather had
changed. Snow ahead!
Outside in the drizzle,
Jim and I saw the dusting of white on mountains that had been as dry as bricks
yesterday. My spirits soared. To this day, I can't figure out why I got such a boost out
of seeing that snow and feeling that damp cold against my skin. My guess? For nearly two
weeks we'd been traveling in bone dry conditions anywhere from 4000 to 16,000 feet.
Kashgar was a succulent oasis but the sky still burned relentlessly blue. I was dried out
and we had 3 more weeks to go. I needed watering.
Everyone, apparently, had been a little
desert-crazed and the weather created giddiness all around. It was insane. Rain
and snow on steep mountain roads is a recipe for disaster — and don't even ask about
the tread on the bus tires. And yet the whole group took on a holiday spirit. As the bus
began its labored climb from Tashkurghan at 10,000 feet toward Pirali and the Khunjerab
Pass at 16,000 feet, we were blanketed with snow. A pair of boys on the bus had never seen
snow. Every "water stop" became a celebration, a romp, a snowball fight. A Paki
businessman — the bus clown — brought chunks of snow on board and passed them
around for us to eat.
At Pirali, the Chinese border
checkpoint, we danced through inches of snow in our socks and sandals (all our
warm stuff was stowed under a ton of luggage on the top of the bus). A pair of bald eagles
soared above us. The bus continued to plow through snow till we reached the highest point
in the Khunjerab pass. Celebration is mandatory there. When we came through the first
time, a group of traveling Pakistani men formed a circle, clapping and playing drums and
dancing and singing. This time we watched snowball fights in the fog.
As we descended into Pakistan,
the snow turned to rain and the switchbacks got scarier. The change in weather had caused
a lot of small rockslides that road crews were cleaning up. A tractor had flipped over and
the driver lay dead on the pavement. Yet the giddiness and absurdity continued on the bus.
The clownish businessman decided to hack open his Kashgar watermelon and pass slices
around to each of us. Jim threw his rind out the window and nearly hit the windshield
of a jeep behind us. Then the little man from Barcelona wet his pants and our clown teased
him relentlessly — "Toilet? No toilet?" The Spaniard took it in good humor
— what choice was there? Not wise to start a fist fight on an overcrowded bus in a
narrow mountain pass.
We made it to Sust, the
Pakistan border checkpoint, by early afternoon. It was raining hard (the thrill of getting
"watered" had worn off by now) and we were directed to line up at an unsheltered
window to have our documents checked. But we were in for a surprise. Our angel Najeeb had
sent us a driver, who spotted us immediately, grabbed our bags, and rushed us to the head
of the line yelling, "VIP! VIP!" Suddenly, we were the Darlingtons, waving
good-bye to the lesser beings condemned to public transportation, getting our papers
stamped with no questions, and disappearing into an empty first-class restaurant where the
help had been instructed to serve us no matter what time we got in. The driver then got us
into a jeep and whisked us off to Karimabad where Najeeb had secured us reservations at
the preferred Mountain View Hotel.
I don't remember that we'd
arranged any of this in advance. From the time Najeeb rescued us at the Gilgit landslide
till he'd waved goodbye to us at Sust six days before (was it only six days?), I don't
remember us having the presence of mind to do any post-Kashgar planning, although I'm sure
we talked with Najeeb about what we wanted to do. He just took care of it for us.
Undoubtedly, Najeeb was the type of guide who could escort a group and still keep his eye
on a few strays like us. I also like the notion that our big Yankee smiles had endeared us
to him, that our innocence and openness made him want to take care of us. It's a nice,
warm little myth about ourselves, isn't it? |
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