#1 INTRO – DISCLAIMER

Thanks for visiting the blog, my first. Hope you enjoy it. Feedback will be appreciated. Intended to post during my trip. Didn’t happen. Am home now - finally posting.

Here’s the deal: In May, 2007 my son, Brad, went to Pakistan to paraglide. He found the people welcoming, the flying spectacular, and conditions peaceful. He stayed on and invited me to join him. As friends heard about my trip they encouraged me to share it, despite my limitations: no particular knowledge of the history, politics, language, culture or geography of Pakistan (or anyplace else), and a track record of being unobservant and of taking lousy pictures. As my friend Becky explained, she and her husband haven't been to that region, and don't expect to go, and she’d rather hear about it from a friend than from a guidebook.

FIRST, A HINT about the PHOTOS - - Double click a photo to enlarge it. Click on back arrow to undo. That's it. Hope you enjoy it. Please let me know.

And away we go.........


MY TRIP (short version - this is it):
Left Sept 12; had a great time; returned Oct 25.


MY TRIP (long version - starts here, and goes on and on):
Sep 12 – 15 GETTING THERE
From my house in Denver to the hotel in Karimabad (via Newark, Delhi for 20 hours, Lahore, Islamabad, and Gilgit) took about 65 hours. The steps were: private car, flight, transfer, flight, taxi-layover-taxi, flight, taxi, bus, private car, flight, taxi, minibus. The minibus being typical developing-country transport, a Toyota-type van, converted to hold 19 seated (3 in front, incl. driver, and 4 rows of 4) plus 2 or more standing on rear bumper and holding onto roof rack.

TRAVEL NOTES
Delhi In taxi to hotel, 10-10:30 pm after long day & flight: Seeing the crowding, poverty, numbers of "street people" who come from generations of same, spotty infrastructure, mud and gunk. Though modest compared to conditions I'd seen previously in other parts of the city and the country, it was disturbing and a reminder of my lack of mental preparation. But after a decent night's sleep, breakfast (bananas, chai, omelet sandwich from street cart, pastry from a shop), and small interactions w/ vendors and others, conditions seemed no less real, but were no longer disturbing.

There's no point in getting disturbed. The living conditions are what they are, and they exist on a scale beyond comprehension, much less remediation. That awareness didn't cause despair, but reinforced by belief in the importance of human interactions, and it renewed my resolve to treat every person with respect and dignity. (Sorry, didn't start with this in mind; it just kind of happened.) Anyway, I didn't give money to the nearly constant stream of beggars, but, as in Nepal and Malawi, bought some bananas and gave them out - particularly to mothers with small children - until the bananas were gone.

Champa - on a lighter note; Forgot to plan for Delhi hotel or to bring my Lonely Planet - India. But met a woman, Champa, in the phone line at airport. Looked kind of Indian, w/ coloring, dress and pierced nose; fluent English w/no accent, some Hindi. Her scheduled taxi was a no show, but she knows modest hotels in Delhi, having made religious journey each of the last 20 years. She negotiated rates for the taxi we shared, and the rooms (we didn’t share) ($17.50; clean room, bed & bath; TV & phone.) She took the stress off me. She gave credit to Krishna. (btw, Champa is name she uses; real name is Dolores.) Didn't expect my initial Indian interaction would be with a Latina Hare Krishna from California.

Delhi hotel: TV included a shopping channel flashing India and Pakistan phone #'s, CNN, "Orange County Choppers," and an evangelist woman I've seen on TV. All were dubbed. One not dubbed was a tape of Goenka, the guy behind the Vipassana meditation course I attended last year in Jaipur. Coincidence? Maybe not.
*All Delhi taxis and auto-rickshaws run on CNG (compressed natural gas). Despite huge traffic volume, the air is pretty good.
Lahore: OK 4-hour wait for 1:30 a.m. bus. Watched India-Pakistan cricket.

ALI: My seatmate was so interesting I slept less than an hour on the Lahore-Islamabad bus trip. Ali is 26 w/ a degree in anthropology. He's studied indigenous tribal peoples in the Chitral region, the northern area we'll visit. Unmarried & lives w/ family in Lahore. Going to Islamabad for Fullbright Scholarship interview. Thoroughly good conversation, including open talk about religion.

FASAL: Fasal, a paraglider friend of Brad, met my bus in Islamabad. He's 29, unmarried, lives with his family. With three hours till my flight, we went to his house. We sat on beautiful, hand-carved, dark wood furniture that’s been in his family 3 generations. We talked quietly in the living room, as family members were asleep in other rooms. He offered me no tea or anything because it's Ramadan, a month-long period when Muslims eat & drink nothing during daylight hours. His family had gotten up at 4 a.m. for a good meal, then went back to sleep. My wait in Lahore was to avoid interfering with their meal. After a very pleasant visit he drove me to the airport. btw, my first time in a 1970's VW beetle in decades.

PRAYER AND PUBLIC TRANPORT It hasn't happened in taxis, jeeps or mini-buses, but on the overnight bus and on the PIA flight, both of which had attendants, there was a prayer (in Urdu and in English) before the trip. Hard to understand due to the accent and sound system, but was simply a prayer giving thanks to Allah and asking for a safe trip. Early in the flight the captain made the typical announcement: welcome aboard, here's expected altitudes, courses, arrival time. Same as we're used to, but in Urdu and English, AND, with an "in shah Allah" (Arabic for "God willing.") interjected from time to time. It's freely sprinkled in conversation here and in other Muslim areas, and is not translated. It wasn't really disconcerting, but…. It’s just that we're used to pilots conveying an unequivocal air of confidence, if not certainty.

#2 KARIMABAD, PAKISTAN 9/15

Wow. Have been here just over 48 hours, less than the time to get here, and the magic has begun. Just being here makes me feel great: the vastly different cultural and physical environment, being with Brad, meeting interesting people, including Freddy, the French paraglider Brad’s been traveling with. Saturday we went to Haider's, a local guest house/ restaurant, for dinner, a family-style, fixed price meal of rice, veggies, a slightly greasy meat dish, chipotti (a flat bread similar to a tortilla, but softer and chewy in a good way; it is eaten and used as utensil & napkin), and custard dessert. Cost: 90 rupees ($1.50).

KARIMABAD is a village in the Hunza region of northern Pakistan. It’s on the Karakoram Highway, part of the historic Silk Road, and offers spectacular views of numerous 7000 meter (over 21,000 feet) mountains. If any of the winding streets are level, they must be known only to the locals. You find yourself always walking up or down – usually up and often steeply. Children scamper past you, and older residents easily stroll past. At over 8,000' it's easy to get out of breath quickly. Then you look up, and up, and see a spectacular peak against brilliant blue sky. "Wow" escapes from your mouth one more time, and you wonder if you're breathless because of altitude and exertion or just because of the sheer joy. That happens again and again.

The cultures of Pakistani and northern Indian are similar in many ways, starkly different in others. A cow woke me up this morning. Actually, the sound woke me - one very loud MOOO. A look outside revealed the cow. Having mooed its last, it was being butchered on the lawn 30 feet from our door. Imagine the scene: Majestic snowy mountains dramatically rising over 20,000 feet against a brilliant blue cloudless sky. And before the mountains, the peaceful orchards, streams, houses and lanes of the village. And then, a luscious, fruit-laden apple tree on the edge of the hotel lawn. And under the tree, a cow: a cow being pulled, stretched, skinned, disemboweled and dismembered by four sweating men, the cow's life blood pooling on a tarp beneath. Just awakened from sleep, I stood, mutely, trying to make sense of the scene. Brad watched for a minute, then said, "You can tell you're not in India anymore."

The pix taken a day later is the view from my room looking past Brad's hammock, then to the killing ground, the apple tree, the peaceful orchards, streams, etc.

Yesterday we met 3 Aussie guys who are on a bicycling trip along the Silk Road, starting in Kyrgyzstan, then China, now Pakistan. Two of the bikes had small, single-wheeled trailers that carried camping and other gear. The third bike used to have a trailer, but it broke loose coming down a hill and flew off a cliff. The guys aren't deterred. This morning at breakfast we also met Peter, a thin, not very athletic-looking Brit in his 40's who was sent here by an English outdoor organization to attempt a yet-unclimbed peak. He's climbed in this area before, going back 20 years, and has climbed numerous high peaks. He came within 50 meters of this summit, but, after a rolling, bouncing uncontrolled descent through the snow, in the dark, decided he could leave that peak for someone else, probably younger.

Small world- Peter, Brad and Freddy have at least one friend in common, a Welsh climber turned paraglider. Peter said he'd like to try it. Good timing. In addition to his solo paraglider (“wing” for short), Brad also has a tandem wing, which can carry two people. Brad got the tandem so he can share his passion with others; in this case Peter. The weather looked promising, so the four of us hiked up (always up) over an hour to the Eagle's Nest, an upscale guest house/restaurant, for a pre-flight breakfast. Our time to hike up and eat would be time for the sun's heat to generate thermals, areas of warm, rising air. You’ve seen birds circling in thermals to gain altitude. Paragliders do the same.

Paraglider: What is it? (Skip this part if you already know, but for those who don’t, here goes.) A paraglider is a free flying very efficient parachute. It doesn’t have a rigid frame (that’s a hang glider) and it’s not towed behind a boat (that’s a parasail). The pilot is in a harness that allows her/him to run for take-off and landing and to sit comfortably during flight. The harness attaches with 2 carabiners to risers that attach to multiple lines and connect to the canopy. The canopy is two layers of fabric sewn together to form cells that are open at the leading edge and closed in back. The paraglider moves forward in flight, filling the cells with air and giving the canopy stability. Two handles (toggles or brakes) and weight shifts allow steering.

A paragliding lesson: Paragliding is weather-dependent. With no thermals or updrafts you just glide down. It's not bad, but is short and not much fun. On the other side, strong or gusty winds can make it too dangerous to fly. We waited, had lunch. It was a great view from Eagle's Nest, looking down at Karimabad and the river valley below and looking up and all around at the snowy mountains. And we waited some more. Another paragliding lesson: Be patient.

The right conditions didn't develop. It’s better to accept the situation than to force a flight into unsafe conditions, so we hiked down. It was a lesson in patience, but not a wasted day. The hikes were beautiful and the exercise felt good.

Pix: Brad near, Peter far, walking along a water channel on the way back down.

#3 KARIMABAD 9/19

Tuesday Brad gave Peter his flight. Calm weather meant no thermals, so a short (15 minutes) flight with a smooth landing in the river valley.

Wednesday - We toured the 800 y/o Baltit fort. Though dwarfed by the mountains in the background, it stands out high above the town, looking strong and imposing, especially at night when it's lighted. After falling into disrepair over the years it's been recently restored. Our tour was led by the curator, a charming man with a great-looking mustache and an obvious love of his work. A thoroughly interesting tour, we shared it with a small (14) group of older Aussies. A like-sized group of Japanese followed us. Those are the first groups we've seen here.

ISMAILI MUSLIMS This is Ramadan, the time when Muslims traditionally don't eat or drink during daylight., but the Muslims in this area are Ismaili Muslims. They are a branch of the Shias, but make up only about 3 to 5% of all Muslims. They call themselves the "peaceful people." Their Imam (spiritual leader) is the current Aga Khan, and they follow his teachings, which emphasize education, peaceful development and philanthropy. The women don't have to cover their faces, and they are more involved in the community. I’ve talked with teachers, health workers, and a doctor. However, except for school girls, you don't see many women on the streets. Ismailis pray 3 (not 5) times a day, believe that the prescribed visit to Mecca doesn't have to be physical, but can be spiritual, and are welcoming and accepting of others. They apparently view Ramadan fasting as optional, so getting food here is not a problem.

Tourism is an important industry in Karimabad, which has ample accommodations, including several upscale hotels. Lots of restaurants and gift shops, but not many tourists. Except for the two groups we saw at the fort, the only other tourists were alone or in small groups. In our 10 days here and Passu we saw maybe 20 or 25 tourists total. Most were Asian (Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, Korean), and also, a French couple, a Kiwi couple in their 70's, 2 Germans (separately, 1 a paraglider), a Swiss couple, plus Peter, Freddy, and a Japanese woman and Kiwi man, both around 50, who had to explain to people that yes, they are a couple and have been for 20 years.

WATER CHANNELS On the mountainside across the river is a straight, horizontal line. The land above it is rocky and brown. The terrain below is mostly green. It's a channel that brings water from the mountain or a glacier. These channels provide the water for irrigation and domestic use that has allowed the settlement and population growth in what is a harsh, arid environment. Some channels have been carved into the mountain, and some built up with stone. Some are hundreds of years old. These channels are a common feature of the developed areas around here. You see them when driving on the roads and when flying over. The conditions are harsh, the slopes steep, and the early tools primitive. It’s mind-boggling to think of the planning, surveying and engineering skills needed to envision and construct them.
Brad (r) and Freddy (l), with Karimabad and the Hunza Valley. The river isn't visible from this angle, but across the valley the tree line clearly locates the water channel.


A SURPRISE RESPONSE: It was a small produce stall, maybe 8 feet wide. The counter at the front meant only the owner could reach the items, which were on shelves behind him. There were lots of apples, and a variety of other fruits and veggies, including some grapes, which I pointed to, asking for 10 rupees worth. The vendor looked at the grapes, which were a little old, but seemed ok to me. But he said no, they weren't good and he wouldn't sell them to me. They were there to sell. It felt like he was protecting me, that he didn't want to take advantage of an ignorant tourist, but the grapes were apparently ok to sell to a local. People are friendly here, but his response sure surprised me.

#4 PASSU AND BACK 9/23

It's been a good few days. Thursday was cool and cloudy with flying unlikely for a while, so we went to Passu, about 1 1/2 hours away via the Hunza River valley. The minibus ride was great. What makes a great ride? Room for your knees, a window seat, good scenery, limited painful bouncing, no loud, annoying music, no vomit, and not too long. This met all of criteria. The views were spectacular: steep, high valley sides (some with those neat water channels), winding river, lovely villages with green fields and tall, waving poplars, huge alluvial fans spreading into the valley, breathtaking glimpses of mountain and sky. The pictures don't do justice. The roadway is part of the Karakoram Highway and was basically good, but with lots of evidence of rock slides: damage to the road, and jogs around or over existing slides, none huge. We passed several bicyclists who must have been part of a tour because they weren't packing any gear. It looked like fun, and it would definitely be great to spend a couple days in that valley instead of a couple hours.

APPLES OF DEFENSE? My first thought on seeing a stack of filled burlap bags beside the road was that they were defensive outposts or checkpoints for the police, just like in Nepal. But there were no police, and these bags were bigger than sandbags. Turns out they were apples. Hunza is a big apple-growing region, sending apples throughout Pakistan and even beyond. Much more peaceful than sandbags.

We got to Passu in time to take a short hike up by the nearby Passu Glacier. The sun was setting, and a cold “glacier wind” was in our face. We walked along the lateral moraine, saw where the glacier retreated (see pix), noticed how some rocks had been scoured smooth and how others had carved their paths into the ground. Just like in the books and films, but this was in person. We made it to a lake in front of the glacier snout before it got too dark.


Despite going to bed late and tired, I woke up early the next morning. The only other people up were the only other guests at the hotel, 3 apple traders from Gilgit. They spoke almost no English, but we had a little conversation, each in our own language, not knowing the actual words of the other, but with obvious good intent. They smiled a lot, offered me hashish, and kept smiling when I declined. It somehow made me feel young to be offered drugs. Reminded me of Nepal last year.


After breakfast Brad, Freddy and I went on a different glacier hike (same glacier, different route), first up and along a drainage paralleling the glacier, then over a ridge to approach it. We kept thinking we would get to a point where we could actually walk on the glacier, but in that area the lateral moraine was 60 feet high and very steep. We didn't even try to cross it, but at least we had a different viewpoint. It must have been 60 to 80 feet high, with a multitude of deep crevasses and a stark unevenness of the surface, and it was dirty. Passu Glacier is called the White Glacier, but it was a dirty white. Further up (we could see about 2 km) it was less dirty. We spent 2 to 3 hours going up, but the 8000 foot altitude made us pace ourselves. We took a different route back, and as we passed a man working in his field he called out and invited us in for tea.

This was my first such invitation in Pakistan, though it was common for Brad. Barkatola spoke limited but quite decent English, made fine tea, and was a gracious host. He's worked as a guide and cook for trekkers, and he has a brother living in New York City. A neighbor, a school principal, stopped in, so we had a second cup of tea before we left. The different return route put us on the road several km from our hotel. We started walking, but saved time by flagging down the first truck that came by. No English, but nice smiles from the 3 guys, and they dropped us at our hotel. Hitchhiking is apparently easy in Pakistan. Freddy does it all the time, and Brad's done it some. The KK Highway in a major route for the sizable trade with China, so hitching is often a viable option.

Saturday The apple traders were leaving, along with 3 other guys who appeared from somewhere. The high-sided pickup was overloaded with bags of apples, on top of which were pink plastic crates of something light green. Seeing my curiosity, they showed me a crate: grapes from China. Typical of two characteristics here, hospitality and cost-effective transportation, they gave me some grapes, then headed out: 6 men plus hundreds of pounds of apples and scores of pounds of grapes all straining the over-sized springs and over-filled tires of the little pickup.

After breakfast the three of us took the "two bridges hike," so named because the 3+ hour hike along the Hunza River crosses the river twice using suspension bridges the guidebook describes as "a cluster of cables with planks and branches woven in." After being sometimes mesmerized by the spectacular views of mountains, glaciers and the riverbed, you find yourself becoming very present and very focused on each step across these bridges. It was a fun adventure for us, but it's routine for local villagers and school children, some of whom cross a bridge to and from school.
Going through a village on the path to the highway found myself behind two schoolgirls. We had a brief conversation. School kids often want to practice their English. They ask, "What is your name?" or "How are you?" (sometimes they immediately answer, "I am fine, thank you.") These two were Karima (12) and Fatima (11). They stopped at Karima's house, her "new house" she proudly pointed out, and it was new construction. We were parting. "Do you like apples?" she asked. My simple yes answer resulted in apples for me and Brad and Freddy. This would not be an isolated event.

At the highway we hailed a mini-bus for the 15 minute trip to our hotel. The weather was nice, so we rode outside, standing on the rear bumper and holding on to the roof rack. The fare is the same whether you ride inside or out. Hitching, whether you get a ride with a car or a truck, is free. Drivers don't want your money. They’re happy to have you as their guest. We reached our hotel, grabbed our stuff, and caught a minibus for the ride back to Karimabad. Another good ride for me. Was in the last seat along w/ 3 other guys, but after 15 minutes two of the guys got out, and no one else got in. Brad and Freddy preferred to hang on outside for the entire trip, about 2 hours. The view was great, but that’s too long for me to hang on.

#5 K'BAD TO GILGIT 9/24

On Sunday we hiked along a water channel high above Karimabad. We've walked along channels before, but this one is higher, and the hillside steeper. Fascinating to see the construction up close, to wonder how it was done, and, seeing where a section of rock had recently fallen away, wonder how it would be repaired. The photos don't come close to capturing the distance from where we were standing to the rock 200+ feet below. On the path back we were stopped by a local guy who pressured / pleaded with us to visit his family's fields. Short on time we declined tea, but accepted some apples and pears as we left.

Monday - It's gotten colder, and the weather's been marginal for flying, so Brad and Freddy decided it was time to head for Booni, the village where Brad found a great launch. It's far enough away that the weather will be different. A nice surprise this morning. After usual breakfast at Haider’s, we went next door to check email and ran into two Americans, Ripal and Kelly, two women from NYC who were on my flight into Gilgit. From Gilgit they had gone to the area where we're going. They hadn't met Brad before, but were happy to, having seen his name as the most recent American signed in at several hotels and passport check points. Not many Americans are traveling in Pakistan (or at least in this area) now. It turns out that Ripal and Kelly were the only other Americans I saw in my 5 1/2 weeks in Pakistan.

We left Karimabad hoping to reach Gilgit in time to catch the day's last bus to Mastuj. We left late, however, and were slowed by traffic and by heavy equipment clearing the road of a recent rockslide. As in India, the trucks here are very intricately and colorfully painted, so it gives you something to look at when you're behind one. And we were, and we missed the last bus from Gilgit. [At this point please insert some blather about the uselessness of impatience, when traveling and otherwise, and the joy of learning to accept the delays and detours on "the journey" (literal and metaphorical). Amen]. Had we caught the bus we would have missed a fine evening in Gilgit, not to mention the daylight views on the road to Mastuj.

We stayed at the Madina Guest House, the place for international travelers. At 6:30 the owner, Jakov (?), invited all the guests to join in the evening meal to end the day's Ramadan fast. What a great experience. Even better than the free food (which was good), was the spirit of the occasion. One large table with people from Japan, Australia, France, Colombia, England, the US and, of course, Pakistan. Travelers from around the world breaking bread (literally) and sharing conversation with locals who might never leave the province, Muslims and non-Muslims of whatever religions and beliefs, all sharing the meal and the moment. One person I spoke with Carlos, an economist from Bogotá, a soft-spoken, intelligent man who is easy to listen to and talk with. Our conversation wasn't lengthy, but our connection was immediate, the kind you occasionally make on the road; the kind that lets you speak easily and candidly, as you would with a trusted friend, but without any baggage.

# 6 GILGIT TO BOONI 9/25

It's hard to think that 13 hours on bumpy, dusty road can go by quickly, but looking back now (this is being written over 6 weeks after the fact), it seemed like an easy ride. Here it is: We take the 7:30 bus, handing our packs to the guy on the roof. It leaves at 8 - close enough. The NATCO (Northern Area Transport Corp) bus will take us to Mastuj, then we'll take a jeep. It' another good ride - ample leg room and a reclining seat. The bus holds 52 people, but it's not full so I have a seat to myself almost the whole trip. Also, although two of the people who sit across the aisle end up vomiting on the floor, there's almost no smell, and likewise for the people in the rows in front of me who vomit out the window. I take pictures, but learn not to open my window before looking for activity in front.

The road is mostly dirt/gravel, and varies from flat and fairly straight to pretty steep with and winding. We follow the river for a while, passing farms of various sizes, none more than 10 or 15 acres at most, and we go through lots of small villages. It would be fun to stop and visit the roadside markets, for clothes and food and household items; actually just about everything people need.

Near the road we see graves, usually 1 or 2 together, but sometimes 4 or 5. We learn that instead of having large cemeteries, people are buried on their own land. The graves are simple, and not particularly well-cared-for. It's not disturbing, just different that what we're used to.

There are also billboards along the road, but it's the community signs that catch my attention. They're in English. Here are some: "Peace is Wealth" "Live to Serve" "Educate the Children" "Help the Tourist" "Welcome our Beloved Imam". The last is one we've seen several times written in white rocks on hillsides above villages. It's because 2007 is the "Jubilee year." It marks the 50th anniversary of the current Aga Khan as the Ismaili Imam. Evidence of his influence, and funding, is plentiful: lots of schools, several hospitals, some water or road projects.

At one Aga Khan school a class of girls is outside. It looks to me like an outside study hall, but without desks, or maybe it's a test. All the girls in their green uniforms, squatting at their studies, separated so that each must be working independently.

Our bus stops at 2 or 3 military checkpoints. All foreigners (the 3 of us) get off the bus. An army guy w/ an AK-47 over his shoulder hands us a simple spiral notebook. Following other entries on the page we write in our names, passport and visa info and destination. It's very civil, casual and non-threatening. The military usually doesn't say much, but if I smile they usually smile back. One of these stops is at Shandur Pass, a large, prairie-like area which has the highest polo field in the world, 12,200'. (See it on the last couple minutes of Brad's "Booni to Shandur" video; search "bradismyfriend." on YouTube)

Each July the towns of Gilgit and Chitral play a polo match at Shandur. It's a big deal. In 2006 President Musharaf attended. Since he couldn't make it in 2007 Brad went. OK, there's no connection between the two, but... Brad had become friends with several Pakistani (paraglider) pilots, and had joined PAFF (Pakistani Association of Free Flight). Some PAFF pilots were invited to make a fly-in before the big match. Brad was asked to land last and to ceremoniously hold up the game ball. He did, people cheered, his picture was in the paper. Next year I hope to be there. Anyway, that was Shandur.

Btw, our driver is doing a great job. Not slow, not fast, no swerves or panic stops. And like the battery bunny, he just keeps going. Except for traffic or to pick up or drop off passengers we keep going until about 4 p.m. when we have to stop to change a flat which is interesting to watch. It is a little concerning to see that the spare has a cracked sidewall and no tread; reason to worry maybe, but no point in it. We stop at, what can't be called a village, but a place with two shops (one of which is closed) and a couple of houses. It gives us time to get out, buy some biscuits, stretch our legs and find a toilet. The terrain is hilly, so we can't tell where any other houses might be, but about 15 or 2o people appear to watch the tire changing. It's also a chance to take some pix of some local kids - and a girl a few rows in front of me on the bus.

About 5:30 we stop again, drop a passenger... and...and...nothing. After 10 minutes we realize the driver's seat is empty. He's gotten out to pray. Brad reminds us it's Ramadan, and notes that we've been on the road over 9 hours, and the driver may have had nothing to eat or drink since before dawn. Sunset was a couple hours ago. A few minutes later the driver is back, we're off, and a little later we reach Mastuj. We get a jeep for the final leg to Booni, a 2-hour, 25 km drive over a narrow, twisty, heavily pot-holed and often rock-strewn road. We arrive at 9:30, maybe somewhat tired, hungry and dusty, but happy to be here, and looking forward to tomorrow.

#7 FIRST FLIGHT 9/26

We came here to fly, and fly we will. Actually Brad's been flying, but this will be my first flight here. Brad found this site last May and is eager to share it. My flying has been very limited, with none in over a year, so I didn't bring my wing with me. My flights this time will be tandem w/ Brad. We're up by 7:15. It takes an hour to pack our gear, walk the 15 minutes to town, get some food and find a jeep. The downside here is that the launch site is nearly 2 hours away. The road is winding and narrow, like last night, but with altitude gain (Booni is 7300' - launch is 12,800'), but it’s daylight, and the scenery's great. We arrive about 10 and soon realize the winds are too strong to launch. (Clarification: when referring to knowledge an/or decision-making, "we" means Brad or Brad and Freddy. When used for eating, sleeping, traveling, waiting, "we" includes me.)

Remember the paragliding lessons about weather and patience? We knew the winds would weaken later in the day, so we waited - patiently. We talked, napped, ate the little food we had, and took a 3-hour hike. Good grief - what a place to wait. For us it was a place to launch, but at any other time it would be a place to go just for the view. From launch we could see a couple villages on this side of the valley, the river below, then a large plateau, and Booni beyond, 5500' below and about 6 or 7 miles away.

Another paragliding lesson: The launch procedure is kind of like flying a kite, but one without a rigid frame. You carefully lay the wing out on the ground behind you, attach your harness to the risers, then run into the wind, lifting the lines so air can fill the cells, giving the wing its shape.

Brad and I took off about 6. We could have gone before, but we waited because Freddy likes to fly in the full moon. Brad laid out the glider on the hill while I put on warm clothes and my helmet. We got into our harnesses. The tandem glider allows two harnesses to hook into it. Brad hooked in first, then I did. A slight, but variable wind was coming up the hill. Brad had been monitoring the wind for some time. He had also given me a pre-flight briefing which covered our plans for the take-off, flight and landing, plus options available if needed. The wind was very light, almost completely still in one part of the cycles, so we would do a standard forward launch. We both hooked in and faced downhill. Then we waited for the part of the cycle when the wind picked up.

When he felt the wind was right he said, "Walk." We stepped forward, felt the wing start to come up behind us, making us work hard to keep moving forward. As it got about overhead the pressure eased and Brad said, "Run." With the glider above us we both ran downhill into the wind. After about ten yards we were gently lifted off the ground, but we kept our feet moving. We drifted down for a couple more steps, then were off and were flying, the hill quickly dropping away under us. After a few seconds, when we were safely aloft, we pushed back in our harnesses.

My focus had been on the launch - keeping my balance and following Brad's instructions. But now it hit me -
We were flying! Wow!
Flying in Pakistan. Wow!
Me...flying with Brad, my son...in Pakistan! WOW! WOW! WOW!
Damn this is good!!

The wind could not have been smoother as we glided gently toward the river valley and plateau in the distance. The plateau was our planned LZ (landing zone). As we flew we alternately looked at the sun setting to our right and the full moon rising to our left. When we were assured of making the plateau we did some turns, but mostly we flew straight. Some gently rising air kept us up for a while, and once over the plateau we turned directly into the wind coming up the valley. By this time, about half an hour after launch, the sun was fully gone, and the moon was about level with us.

A paraglider is always flying forward and descending relative to the wind (average glide ratio is about 8:1), so you are always flying into the wind and, unless you’re in a thermal or updraft, you are always gliding down. But at this time, however, it looked and felt like we were suspended motionless in the air. For a while we almost were, with the warm air holding us up and the headwind countering our forward motion. It was magical. And it was comfortable. We were dressed warmly to begin with, and by this time we were down to about 9000 feet, so the air wasn't cold.

The plateau offered large, clear, flat areas for landing, as Brad had discussed in our pre-flight briefing, but as we got within a few hundred feet of the ground we realized the wind had picked up and we were being blown backward. Brad reviewed the procedure if we landed backward. (fyi, it does not include shutting your eyes and screaming, "Don't let me die!") As he predicted, and explained, the ground effect lessened the wind, and we landed forward - easily and safely. I may have stumbled because of slightly uneven ground, or we may have remained standing. Whatever, it was safe, gentle...and joyous! The flight was exciting, wonderful, and fun – and so much more.

Brad and I looked at each other, grinned like Cheshire cats, and hugged then, as we would after every flight and a number of other times during the trip. My words can't express the totality of the emotion that I felt then and am feeling now in reliving it. Sharing with Brad the time, the experience, the connection, the love - it fills me with contentment, happiness, and unrestrained joy. WOW!

#8 TEA, DINNER, KIWIS

Wind’s not right - a no-fly day, so we took a hike along the river and up a hill near Booni. Good scenery and good exercise. It was a comfortable hike, and we took turns leading. I happened to be in the lead coming over a hill and was startled to find myself face to face with an armed man. It was just a momentary shock. A lot people hunt here, so carrying a shotgun is no big deal. We smiled, greeted each other, and continued on. The hike gave us good views down on Booni, like the view Brad is enjoying in the pix. We had better views when flying, but on the hill we could stop and gaze as long as we wanted. We saw a fox and watched some kids play cricket. It was a fine day. Here are two particularly good memories:

First On the outskirts of the village we met a smiling, mud-spattered man along the path. He's an electrical engineer by profession and was muddy from working on his mill, a water-powered mill which, with the change of a belt, provides power for grinding grain (lots of corn & barley here) or for powering an electric generator. The village is connected to government electricity now, but before that was available his generator supplied electricity for lights for 80 houses. People have more appliances now, including TVs, washing machines, etc., and he supplies supplemental electricity to 8 houses, primarily for heat in winter.

He invited us to have tea. He showed us his 100 y/o house, with its dark apricot wood for the columns and octagonal ceiling support. We met his sister-in-law, preparing our tea at the outdoor fireplace. With the tea we also had apples and walnuts from his land, and we met his wife, his father, and two nephews. He is Ismaili. He talked about the importance of relationships between people. He also said he doesn’t practice Ramadan fasting. Btw, the tea here isn’t like English tea, but is more like chai. After tea, conversation, and play with the kids we thank them and leave, carrying a gift - two bags of walnuts from his trees.

An aside: Booni religious make-up. Most people here are Ismailis, but there’s a sizeable Sunni population. The calls to prayer, broadcast by loudspeakers 5 times, a day are for the Sunnis. Though produce, meat, bread and groceries are sold throughout the day, we don’t see people eating outside (except an occasional child).

Dinner time: Of the two restaurants in town, one is always closed and the other only opens after sunset. We decide to try it. It’s dimly lit, smoky, and has no tables. The 15 – 20 patrons (all men) squat on a large, sturdy, raised platform beside the cooking area. This is also the lobby of the hotel with rooms above. We order dinner. There’s no menu, you just get a plate of what’s being served. The food (rice, chipotti and a spicy, greasy meat dish) is palatable and relieves my hunger, but doesn’t make me want to come back. Actually, after this meal we decide to do our own cooking from now on. Brad enjoys cooking, even if it's the two burner propane stove on the floor in the kitchen at the hotel. His meals are simple, but tasty and healthy.

Maury and Pat: The second good memory While eating we looked up to see an old white man (older and whiter than me) walk slowly down the stairs and go outside. His name is Maury. He’s 74; his wife, Pat, is 72. They’re from New Zealand. Brad met them in Karimabad and recommended Booni for a non-tourist experience. They are retired farmers who take a trip every year, and (being a little heavy and moving with some effort) they don’t look like your average traveler visiting remote areas and staying in “basic” accommodations (as he described it). He said in a minibus they take up the seats of 3 Pakistanis, but they haven’t been charged extra. It’s fun and inspirational to meet such interesting, impressive people.

#9 SUNNI MOSQUE DINNER 9/29

Yesterday I was walking toward the market, when, with no introduction, a man walked up to me, smiled broadly, said “Hello, my brother!” and gave me a big hug. Inayat is from a significant local family, is “only a teacher” (his words), and is Sunni. He met Brad months ago, knew I was coming, and (since tourists almost never come to Booni) identified me immediately. He invited us to dinner, and tonight we went.

Brad, Freddy & I arrived at the family compound before 6, and some guy took us to a room. It was carpeted and had a dozen pillows or cushions against the walls (no furniture). We left our shoes outside, went in and waited. After a few minutes Inayat arrived, greeted each of us, and took us across the yard to the family mosque. Dinner had been set out on the floor in one corner of the mosque. The food was in serving dishes in the center of four overlapping tablecloths. About 15 men were sitting on the floor around the tablecloths. We joined them. It was like being at a table, but with no table. A few minutes later we heard a call to prayer, Inayat said something, and people started eating.

Picture it. It means food and feet can be pretty close together. The convention is this: If your feet encroach on the tablecloth, put your feet under the tablecloth. The meal consisted of 2 or 3 vegetable dishes, a meat dish, soup, large platters of rice, and a couple loaves of round flatbread about an inch thick; one had a layer of cheese inside. The chipottis were on a large platter beyond my reach. Inayat reached them. He picked one up and tossed it beside my plate. Then he did the same for Brad and Freddy and a guy beside Freddy. The other breads were shared. Want some? Just break off a piece. Water was in pitchers. We each had our own plate, but three water glasses were shared by all. We could reach much of the food, and dishes were passed when asked for or when someone thought we needed something. It was easiest for me to eat with the spoons provided, but most of the men tore off pieces of chipotti to eat the veggies and meat. It was my best Pakistani meal so far. The food was ample and delicious.

After about 25 minutes Inayat went to another side of the mosque, the side opposite the entrance, and all the men got up and joined him. He was front and center, facing the wall, and the other men formed a couple of rows behind him. Their prayers had begun. At first Inayat led the prayers. He spoke, and the men rose, knelt, and put their faces to the floor as a group. After a while there was no more group prayer, just soft individual voices. They stood, knelt, prayed individually.

We sat where we were, eating if we wanted, but not talking. A couple of men had young (under 10?) sons with them during the meal, and during the prayers one boy about 5 was walking around in the mosque. His 10 y/o sister came to the door and called him – twice. Then she just came in and took him out. Inayat finished his prayers, and we followed him outside. The prayers had lasted about 10-15 minutes (though a few men were still praying). During the meal a few words had been spoken, just to ask for something to be passed, but there was no conversation, just eating. Brad reminded me later that we 3 were the only ones who had eaten since before dawn. The rest were hungry, and the time for eating was limited.

Once outside we were joined by two other men from Inayat’s family and by the childred. We sat on chairs, ate apples, pears and grapes, and we talked.

I asked about the kids talking, and the girl calling, then getting the boy. He explained that children are allowed to be children. They don't need to join in prayers until 10 or 11. Inayat talked about Islam and said, among other things: the Holy Koran (and it was always the “Holy Koran” when he spoke of it, never just the Koran) instructs Muslims to respect other religions, that Muslims and Christians are brothers (which is why he first greeted me as he did). It is the duty of Muslims to welcome others, especially Christians.

He smiled almost constantly when he spoke. He spoke respectfully of Christ and Noah and Abraham (and a couple others I forgot). He criticized the Kalash people (a tribal group in northern Pakistan who have resisted missionaries and continue to practice a form of animism), for sacrificing many goats (200) as a ritual. He also spoke of the second coming, saying that Christ will return, and when he does he will become a follower of the Holy Prophet.

He invited us back for dinner every night for the rest of Ramadan. The food and gracious welcome were appealing, but we limited our commitment.

#10 ISMAILI FAMILY DINNER 9/30

Brad met the Shah family through the 13 y/o son, Aftab, a few months ago. Brad had landed at the Booni polo ground, exhausted after 6+ hour flight, and Aftab invited him home for food and to rest. Brad went, more than once, and they invited him back whenever he was around. We stop in a little before dinner. They are a family of 5 girls, one boy, and the parents. Most speak good English.

Aftab is away at school in Gilgit. Sahib, the father, and Shahida, 20 y/o daughter, take us to the guest house. The main room is about the same as Inayat’s, but with a table in the corner, a few family pictures and a picture of the Aga Khan, the Imam of the Ismailis. We five sit on the floor and chat. Sahib works for a health agency in Chitral town and is gone from Monday morning to Sat. He provides education of some kind to clinics in the region. Brad shows him paragliding pictures, and I talk with Shahida.

She just finished her exams and expects to get her degree (like a US associate degree) in chemistry, but says she’s not a good student. She makes good eye contact, and is very comfortable to talk with. She’s bright, pretty, and has a nice, firm handshake. She wants to be a health worker like her 23 y/o sister who works in a village several hours away. We talk for a while, then she leaves.

A few minutes later she’s back with a pitcher, a basin and a towel. The basin catches the warm water she pours over my hands. As we wash our hands two other daughters bring in the food. As at Inayat’s, we sit around the tablecloth on the floor and eat meat, veggies, rice, chipotti and bread. It’s tasty and ample. Sahib and Shahida stay and eat with us; the rest of the family are eating elsewhere. After dinner we say goodbye to Sahib and Shahida, then to the rest of the family, including an extra aunt and a few cousins. I don’t think the mother speaks English, but she smiles. It’s been a fine evening, and the first of numerous gracious visits to the household.

#11 SCHOOLS 10/3

We had a nice flight yesterday; about an hour. Calm weather, smooth, not much altitude. Landed at the Booni polo field at mid-day and were quickly surrounded by school kids. The kids made room for us to lay out and refold the glider. A mosque is in the background at one end of the polo field. A school note: generally kids have school about 4 hours in the morning, go home for a couple hours, then go to mosque for 2 -3 hours of religious education. Actually, the Sunnis call their prayer hall a mosque; the Isamailis call theirs a jamatkhana. Students and teachers have told me the schools here include both sects. Anyway, these kids (age about 7 -15) were on their way home from school and were well-behaved for a large group. The teenage girls looked at Brad, talked among themselves, and blushed. One said to me, “You have a very beautiful son.” Then they all blushed some more. Brad would just as soon not have the attention, but he smiles and handles it well.

Speaking of schools. Inayat had asked us to visit his school. This morning I did. Actually visited two schools.

The first is a private primary school called the Space Era Model School. It was started 2 years ago by Amin, a 31 y/o guy we met at the internet place. Classes are mixed gender, with the lower grades being about equal boys and girls. Nice class sizes, about 12 – 20. The lowest grades have few, or no, desks. Two classes are meeting outside. The kids seem attentive and diligent. The highest grade, about 10 y/o is about 2:1 boys to girls. I make brief visits to several classes. In each class the teacher introduces me, and I say a few words about being happy to be here and that it’s good to see everyone working hard. Amin interprets. The kids listen and seem interested. As we leave the students are getting back to work.

The next visit is to Inayat's school, a public high school with about 300 boys and 40 girls. There are many private schools in Booni, including a girls' school less than 100 meters from Inayat's school. People have told me that many private schools are affordable, so it’s hard to know the reason for the gender imbalance at Inayat’s school - and I forgot to ask. It's obvious that many girls of all ages go to school because before and after school the streets/lanes/paths are crowded with students in their uniforms.

Inayat teaches Koran, Urdu, Pakistani history and English, but not science or math, which are the only mixed-gender classes in his school. We visit 3 classrooms, and I speak for a few minutes to each class, introducing myself, mentioning Brad, and telling why we’re in Booni, and also telling how friendly the Pakistani people have been. There’s time for questions, but few are asked.

One question is about the difference between Pakistani schools and those in the US. Some seem surprised to hear that in different clothes most of them would blend in at a US school. My answer leads to telling them that Pakistani schools obviously do a good job, because when we call a computer support line in the US, that call sometimes goes to a call center in Pakistan. My answer does not address differences in wealth. One girl whispers a question the teacher then asks. “Are girls allowed to wear face scarves to school?” The 10 girls in class are sitting together, and all are wearing face scarves. Hmmm. What is the right answer? Mine was something like, “I think so, but haven’t been in schools to know.” It was followed by telling them that Islam is growing in the US, but most Muslim women seem to wear head scarves in public, not face scarves.

A senior boy asked what purpose it served to spend your time paragliding. That's a reasonable question, but it felt critical or at least judgmental. It certainly couldn't have been me feeling defensive. It took a lot of nerve to ask, and as with all the questions, I thanked the student for asking it. My rambling answer was that Brad had worked for 7 years as a wildland fire fighter, and he simply wanted to take some time off to do something he loves. It was hard to gauge the reaction of the students. Anyway, it was an interesting experience for me – provoking thought then and now.

Over the next few weeks students from each of the schools would come up to me on the street and thank me for coming to their school.

#12 ASIF, MOUSE+, MIR, H20

Asif: Yesterday afternoon a boy was waiting for me at the hotel. “Will you please help me with this?” he asked, a folder of papers in his hand. Remembering “school money” scams in other places, I reacted badly and said no.

[An aside: Only twice in my 6 weeks in Pakistan did anyone ask me for money. First was a 10 y/o boy near Passu just after the two girls had given me apples. After asking if it was ok I took his picture, showed him the image, and thanked him. And he said, "Give me rupee." For some reason it made me laugh - while smiling and telling him no. The second time was at our hotel in Booni. About 9 one night we heard drumming and singing outside. Four or five teenagers had opened the gate and come into the front courtyard. Sitting in a circle on the grass they were making their music. It surprised me to see them out. We usually didn't go out after dark and, except for groups coming home from prayers around 8, we almost never heard anyone out and about. One girl said, "Give me money." Laughing, I said no. It turns out that what they were doing was related to the upcoming Eid, the end of Ramadan, and is a light-hearted tradition. Those were the only requests for money. In each case the request had been a request, not a demand, and they accepted my refusal and didn't ask again.]

So, my reaction to Asif would have been perfectly reasonable for India or many other places, but it's different here. Fortunately, he didn't take offense. “I don’t want money or anything," he said, "I just want to ask you about American culture.” His eyes were bright and, his smile genuine. “OK, tell me more.” He did. His name is Asif Ali Shah. He is 15 and is applying for a US exchange student program. We’ve talked several times since then. He’s a top student, is interesting, intelligent, articulate, a good kid. He didn't want money or help with a test or anything like that, just info about school, families, daily life.

He did ask for help understanding the application however. Two places hadn't been filled in. The instructions said to "print" a name. One was under the signature of his teacher and the other was on the back of his photo. He told me his teacher said it was impossible to do that. The confusion came from not knowing the use of "printing" versus cursive writing. He and his teacher thought it required using a printer. A logical misunderstanding. Asif would be an asset to the exchange program and would be a joy for any host family. Here’s hoping they accept him.

Mouse, +: The mouse, who hadn't been sighted, but whose noise kept me awake 2 nights, seemed deterred by the rocks and mud I used to seal the hole in the bathroom floor. Brad had slept through the little mouse noises, and wasn't concerned as long as it didn't damage our gear (like chewing on the glider or its lines - so we moved that stuff onto chairs). We kept the bathroom door closed, and my habit was to look carefully whenever going in. That’s what let me see the scorpion. It was motionless about waist high on the wall just inside the door. Though a big scorpion, 3 inches long, it was no match for the broomstick. It’s body remained on the floor in the corner of the bathroom overnight. The next day, however, there was a new mouse hole beside the old, rocked-up one, and the scorpion’s body was gone. Maybe the mouse will eat it. Scorpion venom is strong. The murder of the scorpion is on my conscience already. I would welcome a natural resolution of the mouse issue.

Mir Safdar Khan. A couple was plowing with an ox team while another man was hand-sowing wheat. We stopped to watch. A grandson greeted us. We chatted briefly, and he invited us to tea. We walked with him and another young man along the path, across an orchard and through a gate into a lovely courtyard where we were seated. One of the young men said they were all the same clan. The clan, a multi-generational group of over 30, lives in several houses on the family land. The houses are separated by orchards, courtyards, fields and walls. The walls are over 6 feet high, so we can't see what's on the other side except for occasional glimpses through open gates. This is the same situation throughout the village.

So we were in the courtyard. In a little while we were joined by the man who had been sowing. Mir Safdar Khan, the family patriarch is 78 but looks closer to 60 - and he has a wonderful presence. It's not like the compassion radiating from the Dalai Lama or maybe the Pope. It's simpler, suggesting that he is totally contented with his life, and the twinkle in his eye hints that he might have a secret that makes him happy when he remembers it, and he's remembering it now. He didn't say a lot, but when he did speak it indicated he understood all that had been said. He retired many years ago as an army signalman and showed he remembered morse code by sounding out the dots/dashes for A, B, C. He could have continued, but that was enough to make his point. He made occasional comments, but mostly just listened - and smiled.

We drank tea, and ate grapes and apples. As we readied to leave he put his hat (a capul, the traditional hat of men in the region) on my head for a picture. I jokingly said, “Thanks for the hat.” In a flash (well, quickly at least) he was in the house and back out with another hat, a clean one, which he gave me. As we walked away, smiles all around, our stomachs full, apples in my pack and my capul on my head, Brad said, “Careful with your jokes. You’ll just keep getting stuff.”

Water project: The sky clouded over quickly on the last part of the drive up to launch on Thursday. We had just made the no-fly decision when a jeep came up the road, a rare occurrence. Usually ours was the only vehicle we saw. This was the engineer crew for a nearby water project. The Attak water project, at 13,000+ feet, is the highest water project in the world. They were happy to talk with us and to give us a tour of the sites for their project, which will tunnel about a km through a mountain in the Hindukush Range to bring water into the Mastuj Valley (where Booni is located). Unlike the numerous small channels we’ve seen, this one will be big, 12 feet deep and 24 feet wide, and will provide irrigation water for several villages. The project is just in the beginning stages, surveying the route and drilling into the proposed path of the tunnel to test the rock formations. The tour took well over an hour, during which we got snowed on, confirming the decision not to fly.

#13 HOSPITAL, HOSPITALITY, + 10/9-10

Tues Oct 9 – What a day: hospitality, coincidence, hospital, more hospitality
Recalling all that happened these two days – and my emotions about some of it – could take pages, but here it is, as concisely as possible:

Noon: Hospitality - Muzafar and family: Brad and Freddy went flying, giving me a chance to explore the village. This guy Muzafar saw me taking pix, stopped his car and invited me to tea. His wife, Jamila, and 4 y/o son climbed in the back seat to make room for me, and we drove to their house. Twenty minutes later we were in their courtyard enjoying good conversation and a delicious lunch of chicken in gravy and warm, freshly-baked bread.

Muzafar runs the Stars Land Grammar School, which he started in 1998, and he and Jamila teach there. Our conversation covered several subjects, then came to paragliding. They’d seen Brad flying several times since Spring. They knew he usually landed at the polo ground, but on one particular flight they'd been concerned because, after flying over Booni for a while, instead of landing he headed easterly, out of sight. They worried about him, and were relieved when they saw him in the village a few days later. They were interested in the flying, but hadn’t met Brad or Freddy. Brad's laptop was with me, and it had all of his, Freddy's and my pictures on it. Yes, they said eagerly, they’d like to see pictures.

1 PM Coincidence: We looked at some flying pix, then were looking at pictures in and around Booni. Remember the electrical engineer with the water mill/electric generator? While looking at those Muzafar points to the daughter and says, “She’s my student,” then points to the father and says, “He’s my cousin.” When we’re looking at the pix of Aftaab’s family Jamila points to Aftaab’s mother and says, “She’s my sister.” They also know and recognize Mir Safdar Khan and the cook at our hotel, but aren’t related to either. They recognized others, but that’s enough for now.

4 PM Hotel - News of Hospital: Aziz, the hotel manager, speaks little English, but as soon as I get back he conveys to me that Brad is at the hospital. An instant of panic, but just an instant. [Stay present, stay calm. A deep breath helps me get centered. Brad and I have had this conversation, not just about a paragliding accident, but about mortality. And about the importance of staying in the present - the now. Brad gave me a CD book several years ago. That, plus several conversations with Brad, plus practice, convinced me of the uselessness of worrying about things past and things we can't control. Looking back at my reaction convinces me that some of the lessons have sunk in.]

With patience and translation help from the owner's son I learn that Brad is not injured. Freddy had the accident, and that his injuries aren't life-threatening. With that info there's no urgency for me to go to the hospital, wherever it might be. In a little while Brad gets back. It is very, very good to see him. We eat, then head out to visit Freddy. The hospital is a half-hour walk.

7 PM Hospital Hospitality: Freddy is the only patient in a 6-bed ward, but he’s not alone. A couple of guys Freddy had met in the village are visiting, and a district government guy who leaves when he's satisfied that Freddy won't die. The hospital administrator, Mr. Sawat, is there, having brought food his wife prepared for Freddy. Mr. Sawat explained that tourists in the hospital are treated as guests. In addition to the food brought by Sawat, Afayat Khan, the hotel owner brought grapes, dates, bottled water and a package of cookies. And there was homemade bread and a dessert which had been brought by Muzafar, who had left only a few minutes before we got there. After seeing me off Muzafar had gone to the marketplace, overheard a conversation about the injured paraglider, felt a kinship because of my visit and the pix?, and Jamila made something to take to Freddy. While we were there two local police stopped in to check on the injured tourist. Mr. Sawat stayed till 10, and finally left when we did. Is that all hospitality or what?


Wed Oct 10 – Hospital
Freddy’s doing well. His injuries are sprained wrists and a compressed vertebra. He has good (but slow) movement and decreasing pain. Today Asif (the student who asked for my help) brought Freddy some grapes. Last night we met the on-duty doc, Fatima (forgot her last name), an OBGYN. Wish there had been more time to talk, as she was very interesting. Today the head doc, Abdul Karim, a surgeon, gave us a tour. The hospital has 3 6-bed wards (men, women, and women with children), 3 semi- private rooms, 2 ORs (1 with a new anesthesiology machine that can take over breathing), a delivery room (the picture w/ Brad looking; they average 2 births a day), X-ray room, ultrasound room, dentist office, plus admitting room (computerized) and various offices, and the nurses station (below).


An Aga Khan foundation built the hospital and pays ongoing expenses. It is open to all, not just Ismailis, and costs are very reasonable. An office visit with a doc is less than $1; x-ray is $2. Records are computerized, but there's still lots of paper, like all the green records behind the admitting desk. The picture is of the Aga Khan. It's the same one as in a number of homes and businesses, and isn't real recent, since the Aga Khan is in his mid 70's now.

The hospital serves not only the 1600 Booni residents, but thousands in surrounding villages. Interesting notes: 1. During Ramadan there are fewer hospital visits. 2. There are more visits right before winter, and because winters are hard and transport difficult, there are many more home births during winter.. 3. Most of the hospital is heated with wood stoves (they vent outside). They are removed during mild months, and Freddy’s ward was pretty cool (he had plenty of blankets, however). 4. The delivery room has an electric baby warmer, and the ORs have electric heaters, but the heaters sometime overload the circuits. 5. A coincidence: in Gilgit Brad stayed with his friend Farhar. Turns out he’s a cousin of Dr. Fatima. Coincidence. Oh, btw, she wasn’t in the hospital today, but had sent lunch for Freddy – and Brad and me. Hospitality.


Freddy was anxious to get out of the hospital and back to the hotel. He was doing well and was dismissed. He has some meds for pain, and he’ll need to take it easy for a while.



VERY LATE POST SCRIPT 2/12/08
Just got an email from Freddy. He got back to France in December and found out both his wrists were broken. So the treatment in the Booni hospital, while caring and well-meaning, wasn't as thorough as we thought. He now has 2 pins in one wrist, but seems fully recovered, as he's out of his casts and is flying and rock-climbing again.

#14 - “EID MUBARAK” 10/14

It is EID, the day Ramadan ends, a big holiday, similar to Christmas. People send cards, give gifts, spend the day visiting friends – and eating. It actually lasts 3 days, but the first seems to be most celebrated. The greeting “Eid Mubarak” (literally “blessed festival”) seems functionally like “Merry Christmas.) Brad goes to fly, and Freddy & I go to Inayat’s. They said come at 10. We get there at 10:20 and are late. A big meal is set out on the porch outside the mosque. Many more people than inside during Ramadan. People are seriously eating. There’s no room for us. No problem.

Farooq, a nephew of Inayat we haven't met before, leads us through a gate and into a courtyard. Previously we had gone into a guest house across from the mosque, but we haven't been here before. It's on the other side of one of the hundreds (thousands) of walls in the area. There is a guest house here, too. Maybe this one just has sleeping rooms. Once in the courtyard we can see nothing beyond the walls but trees and sky – which, btw, are lovely. A word is crudely painted on the wall near the gate: "Welcome." We have seen the same thing on most (or maybe all) of the guest houses or adjoining walls. [In the pix, Farooq is 2nd from left; that's me next (wearing the capul given me by Mir Safdar Khan), then Farid's father. Farid is far right.)

We sit in chairs on the lawn, and soon food is brought in. Farid, another of Inayat’s nephews, joins us. Farooq (22) is studying comparative religion and politics at International Islamic Univ. in Islamabad, which has. over 10,000 students, many being women, from Pakistan and many other countries. Farid (30), has a background in law, but is working now with an NGO to develop a written version of Khowar (the primary language of the region) that can be certified for use on the internet. Over the next 2 hours Farooq and Farid are almost always there, but quite a few other men come and go.

Once again we enjoy fine food and interesting conversation. One of the things we talked about was marriage, and the religious and cultural influences and dictates. Much of the conversation has faded, and some things seems conflicting, but the one thing I clearly remember is that the bride's father could require a gift/dowry/payment in return for his daughter. A prized gift/payment is....a high quality Italian shotgun. That info came from more than one source. I'm looking forward to going back and continuing the conversation.

#15 GREAT FLIGHTS!!

This summarizes our flights over the last week, so there's some overlap with dates of prior posts. Brad and I have had some great flights recently, but not without persistence and overcoming disappointment. Last Monday, the 8th, we got to the launch site early, but decided to wait to take off until it heated up a little so we could have good lift (strong thermals). We hung out for a while, then chatted with a local wildlife/ forest service guy (with the shotgun) and his son, plus a couple other guys who came by. It was a busy social time at the launch area, as we were almost always the only ones there. They wanted to see us launch, but we had waited a too long and the wind was too strong for Brad to safely control the glider.

We tried three times, and on two of those we ended up getting dragged a little bit. Our layers of warm clothes provided padding, so we didn't get injured, but it doesn't take long to get out of breath at 13,000 feet. After our first two unsuccessful tries the forest guy and friends got tired of waiting and headed off. We made one more attempt, then waited for a while to see if the winds might ease up. They didn't. so we started walking down.

It was an interesting walk. Quite a few people bring their goats up the mountain to graze during warmer (a relative term) weather. This happened to be the day that people were bringing the goats back down. There's only one road, and we all shared it. Actually, they got to the road just before we did, but they were moving faster than we were, so it worked out well.




Then some kids started following us, and unlike the kids in Booni, these kids seemed to be laughing at us. Most were young, but one was older, and he had a shotgun. We didn't feel threatened, but it was starting to annoy me. Maybe that was because I was getting tired - tired of walking and just tired. It had been a long and frustrating day. So how does a person deal with a situation like that? Take a picture.

We ended up walking down about 2 hours to Athol, the nearest village, getting there a little before dark. We had to wait a while to find a jeep to take us to Booni, and some kids gathered around then, including one showing off his English school book.


We could have had a flight. We wanted to. But it didn't happen. Instead we had this fascinating experience with the goats and the kids, plus a jeep (actually a pick-up) that bounced us around much more violently than our aborted launches did. It also let the driver make some money and take some friends of his for a ride. This is all so much fun! No joke.

That was Monday. On Tuesday Brad and Freddy flew, and Freddy had the accident. Wednesday he came home from the hospital. No flying for him for a while, but he was comfortable and was able to take care of himself, so Brad and I went up Thursday, the 11th.

Thursday 10/11 A legitimate "high flight:
The wind was strong, but would be ok if we could catch the calm part of the cycle. We followed the same pattern as on Monday, but this time we were a little better at it. We laid out the wing, and only Brad hooked into the harness. Unlike our first flight, when the wind was calm and we did a forward launch, the windy conditions meant we would do a "high wind" launch. It's also called a "reverse" launch because the pilot begins by facing the wing (so his back to to the direction of launch).

During the strong part of the cycle I held one side of the wing down. When Brad felt the wind start to ease he said "OK" , and I quickly moved to him and tried to get hooked in. It wasn't easy. Brad was working to control the wing, and we were getting buffeted by the wind, and my gloved hands struggled with the carabiner. Twice I didn't get hooked in before the stronger wind cycle came, so I needed to go back to hold the wing down. We didn't get dragged, so that was good, but I was getting winded. And the memories of our recent failed launches nagged at me. Brad's calm manner was reassuring, and it helped me focus on my part.

On the third try I barely got hooked in before the wind picked up. Brad worked hard to control the wing, and I worked hard just to stay on my feet as we got pulled around. It seemed like 30 seconds; it was probably closer to 5. But I avoided falling, and got my feet under me just as Brad got the wing overhead and in control. When he said "Walk," it was the first time I was capable of doing it. We moved forward together about one step and were pulled straight up. Instantly we were 10 feet above the hillside, then 30, then 50, and we were flying - again. It was a far different launch than our first flight. And, even counting my 25-30 solo flights, it would be my best flight ever - by far - so far.

We sat back in our harnesses, then turned left along the hill. We went to the ridge, found the house thermal, and immediately got some lift. We (ok, Brad was actually flying, but I was thinking good thoughts and was weight-shifting as directed) worked the thermal to about 400 to 500 feet above launch, then went on glide to the west. There are other ridges there that Brad has used before. We found some lift, then flew over the Attak water project we recently visited. We were always on the lookout for good lift, constantly scanning the ground features, clouds, and any birds we could see. Brad's overall experience and his knowledge of the area allowed us to find thermals, but their strength was inconsistent.

For a while we were limited by an inversion that kept us stuck in a routine for 15-20 minutes. We’d gain to a certain height, then our lift would fade and we’d lose altitude. That happened several times, then as Brad says, we “punched through” the inversion. It helps to think of the thermal as stream of bubbles coming up, but they’re different sizes and speeds. Catch a big fast one and up you go.... Of course you can’t see them, and they may drift off one way or another, so it's kind of like feeling your way in the dark - except it's not dark. The air patterns just aren't visible. I still don't understand exactly how a thermal can occasionally penetrate an inversion layer. But it can, and we finally found one that did.

Once we got through the inversion layer we got some great lift, at one time climbing at 8 or 9 meters/sec (1700 ft/min). At times it felt like being in an elevator when it starts up, only it's a faster elevator than you've ever been on. It pushed me down hard into my harness and I could feel the g-forces pulling on my face. Because we were constantly circling to stay in the thermal, we also felt the centrifugal force, and that added to the sensation. For a while we had the awesome experience of soaring with a hawk. Gently circling left, with the hawk just off our right wingtip, then sometimes above and in front of us. On this day the hawk didn't want to go as high as we did, and after a few minutes it headed off somewhere. We stayed in the thermal, wanting to get as much altitude as we could.

As as we got higher we could see further - for miles and miles. Several mountain ranges run through this area, so there were mountains all around. We could even see mountains in Afghanistan. And we could see glaciers - lots of glaciers; above us, level with us, then below us. It was spectacular beyond description.

Of course, higher is colder, and it got really cold. Despite wearing two pairs of gloves and socks, and flexing my hands and feet, my fingers got numb and my toes started to. Maybe my brain did as well. Brad's GPS recorded our flight. At one point we reached an altitude of 5,400 meters (17, 700 feet). We weren't that high for long, only a few minutes, though we were 15 or 16 thousand feet for a while. My memory is of the cold, not the thinness of the air, though it must have been.

At some point Brad decided it was time to head back toward Booni, and for a while he let me fly. It had been over a year since I'd flown myself, and that was a solo glider. The tandem is bigger, slower and less responsive than a solo, kind of like driving a bus. We were both comfortable with me flying, however, because unlike driving a bus, the nearest thing we could hit was more than half a mile away, and that was straight down.

We came south across the river valley several thousand feet above the plateau we landed on in our first flight. We spent some time above Booni and adjoining areas. It was great getting a bird's eye view of Booni, seeing the houses, fields, water channels, and the river and the plateau beyond that. In the pix the market area is upper center, and polo field (w/ mosque at upper end) is to the right of that. But we were looking for lift, finding it and going up, losing lift and losing altitude, then looking for lift somewhere else. It was great fun. We had a lot of height over Booni when we decided to land, so Brad did some spirals, a maneuver that lets you lose altitude quickly. The g-forces in the spiral were came on quicker and were much stronger than those experienced in the thermal. They glued me to the back of my harness.

We landed at the polo field. Setting up for launch we found that the air was still. With no headwind to slow our groundspeed, we came in fast. Despite preparing by running in air as we approached, I panicked just as we landed. My legs involuntarily braced for impact. They slid on the dirt field, and I fell back into Brad as we stopped. No harm. We were safely down, landing 2 1/2 hours after we took off. And in those 2 1/2 hours? Wow! What an experience! What a thrill! Wow!

It was great fun and a fabulous experience. It showed me what a good pilot Brad is, something that other pilots have told me, but it's not the same as experiencing it firsthand. Brad proved it in every aspect of the flight, much of which he narrated as a learning experience for me. It was great stuff, but it left me exhausted. I can't understand how Brad's been able to have so many flights of over 4 hours, and one of over 6 1/2 hours. Once again, we were quickly surrounded by a bunch of students. Their excitement just added to my joy. And they didn't mob us; when we asked them for room they backed off, but kept smiling. One kid even had on a Colorado Rockies shirt. Small world!












Saturday Oct 13 Even higher.
The sky was clear, with just a couple of hints of cloud way off on the horizon. We had a smooth launch, and quickly punched through the inversion. We flew over Attak as before, but with greater altitude than before we continued west toward Tirich Mir, a 25,000 foot peak. We saw the glaciers on the East and South sides of Tirich Mir. We were higher and closer than on our previous flight. Some clouds had formed since launch, and we were flying at cloud base near 18,000 feet. Brad let me fly, giving me a chance to try to find and hold a thermal. It was a great learning experience. I was learning about thermalling, and also about how quickly you can get cold and out of breath at altitude. Brad resumed flying.

Ice particles at cloud base stung the small uncovered part of my face, but the views of the glaciers took my breath away. Well, something took my breath away. It might have been the views, but maybe it was trying to warm up by pounding my hands on my thighs and flexing my legs. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, something took my breath away - literally. It was my first experience with hypoxia (not enough oxygen) and its effects: fatigue, loss of coordination, nausea. I tried several times to get my water bottle. My hands could grip it, but not enough to pull it out of my pocket. And even though I thought that water might help, I felt very tired and just didn't care enough to keep trying.

Resting, breathing deeply, thinking calm and oxygen-infused thoughts didn’t help. After trying unsuccessfully to deal with it I told Brad. He understood, and we came down, although from that altitude it took a while. We had reached over 18,600 feet. By the time we were down to 12,000 feet all my symptoms were gone and I felt fine. By the time we landed I felt great, and loved the experience, but also felt some disappointment at having to cut our flight short – only 2 hours 20 minutes. Not bad. A different experience, but still great fun - mostly.

Monday Oct 15 Another good flight.
This one was 1½ hours and not particularly high, but high enough to soar with several birds, and to see more glaciers, and to look down on valleys and villages and rivers and roads. And high enough to appreciate seeing all those things from this unique perspective. From a plane you can look down on things as you're flying over. The paragliding experience is far different.

With a paraglider there's no engine noise, and, assuming conditions are favorable, it's a leisurely and peaceful flight. It gives you a chance to carefully examine something of interest, whether it's birds flying above or below, or the flow of the river, or people walking between villages or working in their fields. When we're close to the ground children often call to us and we answer. Language, distance and wind noise limit conversation, but the contact still feels meaningful. Being here, having this experience, sharing it with Brad. It convinces me I must have done something pretty darn special in a previous life. I don’t believe in that. It’s just fun to say. Doesn’t matter. This is beyond great.

#16 PARWAK, SONOGHOR, TIRICH MIR 10/16

As Brad often says, “What a day!” Brad and Etiene (a Swiss friend of Brad) left at 7:30, the normal departure time for flying. Freddy, Aftab and I headed east to Parwak, the village Aftab’s mother is from. Afayat Khan, owner of the hotel, lives there and has invited us several times. If conditions are right Brad and Etiene may try to fly there, but the valley, which runs East-West, narrows and could make flying tricky. Aftab arranges the jeep ride. For only a dollar each the three of get bounced around in the back of jeep for over an hour. We get dropped in Parwak, then have a 15 minute walk. We keep looking back, west, scanning the sky for any glimpse of a paraglider, but we see nothing. Turns out it was there, but too far away to see. In the picture of Freddy and Aftab walking Tirich Mir is in the distance, about 45 km west of us. We later learned that at that exact time Brad was close to Tirich Mir, and he took a picture looking east. It showed the valley, including Parwak, and, much too small to see, maybe even us.

We had a wonderful visit with Aftab’s relatives, including lunch in a golden leaved apple orchard. We met Aftab's grandfather and several other relatives. They made us feel welcome, and the orchard setting was peaceful and serene. We were there about 4 hours, and for the first 2 I kept checking the two-way radio to see if Brad was online. He wasn't, and after 2 hours my battery was dead anyway.

When it was time to go we got a ride with Muzafar and Jamila. As we promised, we stopped at the home of Afayat Khan. And again, we were shown great hospitality. We had tea in the courtyard, with the traditional fruits, but also with some super delicious homemade bread and cheese. Afayat told us more of the story of Sonoghor, the village across the river. In June a rock slide destroyed a third of the village. We had heard about it, and we accepted his offer for a closer look. A 20-minute hike brought us to a hill overlooking the river and the village beyond.

Unprecedented rains brought rockslides from the valley above Sonoghor. Countless tons of rocks spread as they reached the village, in one area leaving rocks and slurry tens of feet deep and two to three hundred feet wide, and in another area creating a gully over 100 feet wide and 60 feet deep where there had been none. It destroyed over 100 households and covered their fields. The villagers were experienced with rockslides, although nothing of this magnitude. (CLICK the picture to enlarge it and study the damage.) When they heard the tell-tale sounds they fled to high ground, and not one person died. Seeing the destruction was a dramatic and memorable experience for us.By the way, while we were having tea Afayat was called to his house. He returned shortly to say it had been a call from Brad saying he was back at the hotel. He called so we wouldn't worry. I wasn't aware of having worried, however the news did give me a measurable sense of relief.

Our drive home, on that road in the dark, was deliberate, but safe, and we arrived at our hotel about 9 – happy, but tired. Then we saw Etiene. “Did you talk to Brad yet?” he asked. Something about his voice, the look in his eye told me it was something good, and one thing immediately came to my mind.

Brad's big day: When Brad first saw Tirich Mir in May he was intimidated by it. But he learned a lot, overcame his fear, and since July he's wanted to circumnavigate it, that is, fly all the way around Tirich Mir. To do that, in fact to fly any circular route, requires flying against the wind part of the time. He hadn't actually made an attempt before, because when conditions were right to let him get enough altitude, the wind was too strong to fly directly into it. But this time all conditions were right. It was quite an accomplishment. At one point he reached 7300 meters, about 24,000 feet! Sounds unbelievable without oxygen, but his track log verifies it. He wasn’t that high for very long, but he was still way up for a long time. His flight was nearly 5 hours from launch to landing, and it took a lot of skill, a lot of commitment, a lot of work and constant in-flight planning.

Brad was the first person to fly a paraglider around Tirich Mir. Being a proud father allows me to say that again (and being an obnoxiously proud father demands that I say it again): BRAD IS THE FIRST PERSON IN THE WORLD TO HAVE FLOWN A PARAGLIDER AROUND TIRICH MIR.

But please read on. When Brad tells anyone about it he points out that he was probably the first person to TRY to make that flight. There are many high mountains in Pakistan, and not many paraglider pilots here. Brad found and publicized the launch site near Booni in June. He's tried to get pilots to come, but so far only three others have come.

Brad is thrilled to have successfully made the flight. It's a great personal accomplishment for him, however, especially since he's been flying less than five years. As far as knowledge and expertise he does not put himself in the same class the sizeable number of legitimate world class pilots. As for the extent of his passion for the sport, however, he's pretty darn committed. Please remember that this is my blog, uncensored by Brad or anyone else. Please don't hold Brad accountable for the ramblings of his father. Thank you.

Other than the one picture with Parwak in the distant background, none of Brad's pictures of his flight are included here. You can read about it in the 10/24 "9 Day Push" posting at his website: http://bradsander.blogspot.com/ where you can also find pictures, and you can see the video he took at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwa-DyKbsj0

This is being written in November, and I’ve had time to reflect. Parents know that sometimes our kids make us very proud, and sometimes they scare the hell out of us, and sometimes they do both at the same time. My reaction to this is the same as several years ago watching his video of him driving his motorcycle across Utah. Me: “How fast were you going?” Him: “145 miles an hour.” Me (after exhaling): “Jesus!” (pause) “That’s really cool!” (pause) “I hope you don’t ever do that again.” It was a relief to me when he sold that motorcycle and bought an old VW van: top speed about 60.

So now my concern is oxygen at high altitude - or rather the lack of oxygen at high altitudes. Brad has spent enough time above 16,000 feet that he feels he's become somewhat acclimated. He realizes it's something to consider, however, and he said he's looking into it. He has time, as he left Pakistan’s high mountains for the winter and won’t be back till April. Till then he’s in Nepal.

#17 LAST FLIGHTS, INAYAT, ASIF, GANGI 10/20

We had our last two flights – about an hour each. Nothing dramatic, just good flying, focusing on safety and getting into good habits. On the last flight we landed in a field only a 10-minute walk to our hotel. Seemed just right. Oh, and Jilles, another Swiss friend arrived, so there have been 3 paragliders in the air the last 4 days.

We had a couple more meals at Inayat’s, both in the guesthouse room. As always we left our shoes outside the door. As we started to leave Inayat hustled out and lined our shoes up so they were facing the right direction for us to just step into them. A kind gesture.

At the last meal Inayat’s father (“Baba” is the respectful form of address) was there. Brad had promised to show him paragliding pix. Baba was enthralled, and his questions showed that he understood the concept. Inayat’s 15 y/o nephew brought his laptop and copied Brad’s pix onto it. To me it seemed odd, to be sitting on the floor eating as people have for hundreds of years, then to have 2 laptops in our midst.

At the next to last meal Freddy and Jilles had mentioned that they don’t eat meat. When we arrived for what was to be our last meal there (on this trip), we found a meal that was totally vegetarian. It was another example of Inayat being a good host.

Asif also had us to his house for dinner. He had apologized for not having us over before, but his father is having a new house built, and Asif didn’t want to have us to the old one. When he realized we’d be leaving soon he asked us, and we’re glad he did.Five of us went: Brad, Freddy, Etienne, Jilles and me. We had a variety of delicious dishes, and the meal was wonderful. As was common here most of the time, the dessert was fruit, and it was my first experience of being served pomegranate seeds - out of the fruit and on a plate.

Gangi
One day Freddy and I stopped to visit Gangi, a guy Freddy met last week. He’s 60 and looks like a strong, handsome 45. We found him working in his field. He stopped his work, took us to his house, and had his son climb a tree to get us some apples. We enjoyed an hour of interesting conversation, during which he smiled almost all the time. He’s a fascinating guy: intelligent, personable and complex. The son of a retired army veteran, Gangi was in the army for 7 years, but resigned because the pay was low. What did this strong, rugged-looking guy do in the army? He was a nurse, and I’m sure a good one. He speaks English, Arabic, French, Farsi, and 18 Pakistani languages. During the winter he works as a guide for wealthy Saudis on trips to Europe. As Freddy said later, traveling like that Gangi sees a side of Europe, 5 star hotels, for instance, that we’ll never see. And we learned this in a quiet courtyard in Booni.

#18 LEAVING BOONI -- FILLING SOME GAPS: Amir, Shah Family, Safety, Marketplace 10/21

After 4 fabulous weeks here we leave Booni tomorrow. There's no way to tell all the stories, describe all the scenes or explain all the feelings. Not everything was breathtaking or mind-blowing, but even the mundane here was different, somehow less mundane than back home. As far as adventures go, this gets an A+ in my book. The following, in no particular order, are a mixture of things to help fill in the landscape of this experience.

Amir, our taxi driver:
btw, the terms "taxi" and "jeep" have been use interchangeably. The vehicle is almost always a small Suzuki SUV, and there are a couple areas in the Booni marketplace where they normally park while waiting for trips. The day of our first flight Brad found Amir, a driver Brad had used before and liked. Brad said Amir "has a good energy." They agreed on a fare of 1500 rupees )$25) for the two hour ride up to launch. After the satisfactory first trip Brad got Amir's phone number. From then on, each night before a planned flight Brad called Amir, who would come to our hotel at 7:30 the next morning. That continued throughout our stay. Brad was right about Amir's good energy. His punctuality and reliability made up for his very limited English. Here's Amir and Freddy at launch.

Our first ride ended, after waiting most of the day, with our moonlight flight. On our second ride up the weather changed dramatically from Booni to the launch site, so we had Amir wait while "we" decided. The decision was to drive back down. On the way down he invited us to his home for tea. His wife could not have expected us as we walked through the gate into the two-building compound, but she took it in stride. He ushered us into his guest house, about the same as others we visited. That first glimpse of his wife was the only time we saw her, but soon there was tea and biscuits for us. Our conversation with Amir was as limited as his English, but we all smiled a lot. After 15 minutes an English speaking male relative came in, and the conversation improved. Pix: Brad & Freddy study the sky. Amir waits patiently.

SHAH FAMILY HOSPITALITY:
We had several meals with the Shah family (Aftab, et al). Late one afternoon we stopped in without notice, mainly to introduce Etiene, but ended up staying for dinner. Sahib, the father, was working on the fireplace hood and was blackened with soot. We didn’t want to interrupt, but they insisted we stay. Sahib assured us he was ready to quit. Aftab took us to the guest house where we sat and chatted for about an hour. It was an easy, comfortable conversation involving Aftab (13), Freddy (27), Brad (32), Etiene (55) and me (65). After cleaning up Sahib joined us, but he seemed satisfied to just listen. Other than Sahib I was least vocal because it was so interesting to listen. Aftab’s knowledge and presence, at 13 or 14, is awesome.

Aftab talked about his family and other relatives, other activities in Booni and in Pakistan, and his school, a private boarding school in Gilgit, which is a 13 hour bus ride away. He gets home about 4 or 5 times a year. In a casual comment he said, "He's my teacher, and also my uncle." It made me laugh - and wonder at the extended, interconnected families. We asked about private school fees, and he gave us various examples and also casually told us how much the teachers at his school are paid. What American students have any idea about that?

Another time after a flight Brad & I dropped in - just to visit. But again they insisted on feeding us. The unplanned meal was a feast: fresh bread, a wonderfully spiced spinach dish, homemade yogurt (of course everything was homemade), and tea. The two of us sat on the platform near the fireplace, and Shahida, who didn’t eat, kneeled in the corner, fanned the flies away, and joined in conversation. We thanked her as we were leaving, and she replied, “Thank you so much for being a guest in our house.” It boggles my mind to think about it. We show up, unannounced and unexpected, in the middle of the afternoon, are treated to a delicious meal and delightful conversation, and then are thanked for being their guests.

Are you getting an idea why we like this area and these people, so much?

SAFETY AND TREATMENT RECEIVED:
Most of my friends have expressed concern for our safety here. My experience is limited, but consider this:
1. No one has ever threatened me in any way.
2. With the exception of some school boy horsing around, I have not even seen any instances of threat or violence.
3. Only twice has anyone asked me for money, and both times were kids.
4. With the exception of one pastry shop and a barber shop, it seems that street vendors and shopkeepers have charged me the same as they charge locals.
5. The only theft from a tourist that I’ve heard of was in Karimabad and was committed by another tourist.
6. It just "feels" safe walking through the village at night (though my experience with that is also limited).
7. We've been invited for meals or tea and fruit more times than we can remember. And have you ever had someone stop what they were doing, prepare food for you, serve you, staying to fan the flies away, and then say, "Thank you for being a guest in our home."?

MARKETS, SHOPS, STREET SCENES:
The main market place is the crossroads at the center of Booni. Mostly, we bought produce, eggs and spices from one stall. The guy was nice, didn't speak English, but understood some, and pointing helped. Veggies were usually by weight, but bananas were by the piece. He used a balance scale, and had actual weights for 1/2 and 1 kilo. For smaller amounts he used a single-serving milk carton and a rock (it was always the same rock). Prices were very fair.

We usually bought donuts and cookies from one particular shop, and laundry soap and TP from any of a number. Chipottis (kind of like a flour tortilla, but sweeter, puffier and a little more chewy - in a good way) were made in a shop on a side alley near the crossroads. It's a one-item shop. Just before dark it was very busy with village kids, and adults, coming to get chipottis for the family dinner.

The inside of the brick oven was shaped kind of like a half a football, pointed end up, but open for access. The prep guy divided the dough into shapes like hamburger buns, and the cooker guy took a bun and stretched it into a disc about a foot in diameter, like a little pizza. Then he pushed it firmly onto what looked like a heavy pillow, stuck the dough-topped pillow into the oven and slapped it against the side. The dough stayed stuck to the oven when he brought the pillow out. In the bottom of the oven was what looked like very hot wood coals, so the chipotti-in-progress cooked on both sides at the same time, heated by the coals on one side and the hot oven on the other. Then, using long tongs, the baker removed a fully-cooked chipotti from the side of the oven, tossed it into a holding box covered with newspapers to keep in the heat, and repeated the process over and over. They made lots of chipottis.

It was always interesting to walk through the streets. A number of the shops, some of which were right beside each other, sold the same kinds of items, such as cooking oil, soap, sacks of grain, shampoo, and other stuff, and a few sold electronics or maybe plumbing or electric or electronics. Clothes could be made at a sewing shop or bought at a used clothing stall or shop. Here's a brief sample:

It's nice to have company when you're waiting for customers. The guy on the right owns the shop next door.

The shop with the three guys is the middle shop of the three. Watch out for the pothole when you're crossing the street.

While most of the shops were in the main market area, a number of others were scattered around the village; sometimes just one, and sometimes several adjacent to each other. The market was a 15 minute walk from our hotel, but there were a couple shops much closer. Here's one that we liked to use because the owner was always friendly, and the shop had a great variety, including: jam, biscuites, notebooks, teapots, shampoo (bottles and individual packets), cleanser, toilet paper, Brylcreem (old time men's hair styling stuff), bolts of cloth, children's dresses, shoes, buckets, rope, razor blades, and more.

This sign appeared on walls and posts around the village. Pretty decent of them. Click on it to read the text.

#19 CHITRAL & on to Islamabad 10/ 22-23

Booni has no airport. My plane leaves from Chitral, about 75 km, maybe 3 hours away. It's another beautiful drive, this time through the Mastuj River valley. As on other drives, it was easy to be enthralled by the villages and villagers, well kept fields, stunning mountains and the water channels. But what kept grabbing my attention, literally, were the rockslides. There must have been well over a hundred. Some were minor, and we just drove onto the shoulder to avoid them, but some we couldn’t drive around. At least a dozen times we drove over the top of a rock slide more than 10 feet high over the road and extending to the cliff edge. Some were 50 feet wide where we crossed, and some over 100 feet. Rockslides are simply a part of life here.

Last summer Brad stayed in his friend Farhad's "guest house," a concept unclear to me then, but very clear now. Farhad's working on his house now, and the guest house is filled with construction material, so we can't stay there, but Brad said, "Siraj said we can stay at his place." Brad had mentioned his friend Siraj before, and I always enjoy meeting Brad's friends. The picture in my mind was of a guest house like those we'd visited in Booni, and Brad knew that would be my expectation. He set me up. It turns out Siraj's “place” is a 4-star hotel. Brad must have enjoyed the look on my face when that finally dawned on me as we drove into the parking lot and were met by a uniformed attendant.

After the rock strewn drive from Booni we had reached Chitral town, driven past the airport, then up a winding road, getting occasional glimpses of the city below as we went higher. And then, after one more turn, we arrived at this magnificent hotel overlooking the city. One night at this hotel costs the same as three weeks in Booni, and while it's easy to compare prices, there's no way to compare the experiences. What a treat to have beautiful surroundings, delicious food, and efficient, attentive staff, not to mention clean sheets, hot running water, a western toilet, and an absence of mice, among other things. From the balcony of our room we could look down at the city below, look ahead into the valley, and look up to the mountains for as far as we could see.

We had dinner that night and breakfast the next morning with Siraj, as his guests. Brad has given tips and tandem flights to local paraglider pilots, and he's also been touting Pakistan as a desirable place to visit and fly. I think Siraj, who used to fly but doesn't now, appreciates Brad's efforts to promote the sport and the country, and our stay was a result of that appreciation.

As superb as the trappings were, even more memorable for me was meeting and talking with Siraj and his father. Siraj is a very interesting man and a gracious host, and it was a great pleasure to meet and talk with him. But his father is remarkable.

Siraj's father, whose title actually is Prince Khushwaqt Ulmulk, is 95. He was the governor of Mastuj when Chitral was a kingdom under his father, Sir Shuja Ulmulk, the last Mehtar (ruler) of this region. His hearing and eyesight have faded, but his mind is sharp, and it's a joy to be in his presence. He has a positive outlook and an almost constant smile. He's up to date on current events, and he remembers the past clearly. He spoke easily of the present and the past. "The British," he said, "tried to stop us from doing two things: having so many children and killing each other." He laughed when he said it.

He told about the first car in the district, an Austin his father had sent from Peshawar. The car had to be disassembled, carried in parts over a pass, and reassembled in Chitral. At our breakfast conversation he was asked if the car was brought over after a particular bridge had been built. "No," he answered without hesitation, "It came the year before, in 1928." That means, that at age 95, he remembers a sequence of events that occurred nearly 80 years ago, when he was a teenager. What an incredible mind to go along with his positive spirit.

Explaining his father's sharp mind and positive spirit, Siraj said that for 45 years his father kept a diary, noting events of the day, people he talked with and things discussed. Each morning started with a positive quote, maybe from the Bible, Buddhist writings, or wherever else he chose, and throughout the day he tried to focus on the quote and put it into practice. Limited eyesight ended his daily diary, but it hasn't diminished his mind and spirit.

Siraj said that when asked what the most important thing is for living a long and happy life, his father says it's "forgiving, always forgiving." Then he explains that you can't practice peace or being peaceful if you hold onto resentment. Wow. What truth. I look forward to talking more with him on my return in June.

After breakfast Siraj, Brad, and Siraj's driver, took me to the airport. As we said goodbye Siraj said, "Thank you for being a guest in our hotel." We laughed because he was quoting from my story the night before of what Shahida had said to us in Booni.

After over 5 weeks in Pakistan it was time for me to leave. It had been a great time. Brad and I had been together for most of every day, and it had gone great. There were lots of time when things went very well, and sometimes we specifically acknowledged it ("This is so cool!" or "Damn, this is great" of something like that) and sometimes we didn't say anything. There had been other times when things were not ideal (like getting dragged on launch, or missing a bus, or something), but even at some of those times I had looked Brad in the eye and said, "Brad, I love the journey!" and had meant it. Damn, I'm lucky!

We said goodbye, hugged, and I went through security. My journal entry says our goodbye was "wonderful/emotional, Very Present, Peaceful, Joyous!" Yep, that's right.

After security was the waiting room. The Chitral airport is small, and so was the waiting room. A couple women had gone through security just before me, but they weren't there. It turns out there's a separate waiting room for women, just one of those thinks you don't think about till you experience it.

Anyway, it was nice to just sit, relax, and ponder some of the memories of the last weeks. My thoughts were broken when a man who'd been sitting nearby came up to me and said, "Are you Brad's father?" I nodded. "I just talked to him on the phone," he said. Brad met Gohar in May and offered him a tandem flight. Gohar was interested, but hesitant. When his wife expressed her concern he decided not to fly, but he and Brad had kept in touch. Brad saw Gohar go through security and phoned him. We chatted, then parted when we boarded the plane.

My scheduled flight was directly to Islamabad, where Fasal, the guy who took me from the bus to the plane before, would meet me and take me to the bus for my trip to Lahore. Brad had also given me some magazines to give to Fasal. The direct Chitral-Islamabad flight was canceled, however, and replaced with one that was Chitral-Peshawar-Islamabad. That was no problem for me. We landed in Peshawar and were walking across the tarmac to the terminal when Gohar came walking back to me holding out his cell phone. "It's for you," he said. It's funny to think of it, my first time in Peshawar, a city not even on my itinerary, and here's a guy with a call for me.

Of course it was Brad. He couldn't reach Fasal, so he gave me a number for Jabbar, another paragliding friend. He'd meet me, get the magazines, and take me to the bus station. It all worked out fine. Jabbar's a recently retired army doctor, and in the car I him about Brad's high flights and asked him about oxygen. He was knowledgeable and unwavering. My journal says, "He thinks a person flying at those altitudes should have oxygen available. TELL BRAD!"

#20 THE END. ISLAMABAD, LAHORE, HOME 10/24, et al

The Islamabad-Lahore trip was the same one (but in the other direction) as my first day in Pakistan, a nice, air-conditioned bus on what people have said is the best road in the country. A couple interesting things en route. One has to do with security, which was the same as on the first trip. After the bus was loaded a man with a camera got on and took everyone's picture. If someone was sleeping or had on dark glasses or sometimes a hat, the photographer had the person remove the glasses and look into the camera. The order in which he took them meant it would be possible to know who was sitting where and beside whom. Some "Wanted" pictures were posted in the bus station, and they obviously came from these pictures. We left the station, drove for about 20 minutes, stopped, and another man got on and repeated the process.

Our bus left about 5 PM for the five hour trip to Lahore. My seatmate this time was also a young man. Mohammed is 22, has a BS in Mechanical Engineering, lives in Lahore with his family and is deciding on either work or grad school. Another very nice guy. Having a night to stay in Lahore I needed a place to stay, and this time had my Lonely Planet with me. Mohammed helped me narrow the choices based on location. It wasn't clear to me the first time, but Lahore is a city of 6 or 7 million people, so location matters. Mohammed called 3 different places listed, and it's good he did. One had bad info, and the other two were full.

That left a travellers inn well rated by Lonely Planet, but which Brad said was pretty basic and could be loud. It was generally the direction Mohammed was going and he offered to share an auto rickshaw. When we arrived he made the deal w/ the driver and off we went. It took a while to get there. It was in an alley off a main road, and when we got there, about 10:30, it was totally dark. Totally. The door opened onto stairs going up, and a Japanese guy w/ a flashlight was coming down. He confirmed this was the right place, that he was sure they had rooms or at least beds available. The office was on the second floor.

Leaving my backpack with Mohammed and the rickshaw I took my day pack and went upstairs, lighted by a candle at the top. The sound of conversations led me to a smoky office, and info about my options: a dorm room or a single room. In either case the bath was down the hall and across an open courtyard. I was tired - the room would work fine - just fine. When I went outside the rickshaw was gone. But Mohammed was there with my backpack. The driver didn't want to wait, so Mohammed had paid him. He would get another rickshaw to take him home, and no, he wouldn't let me pay him for my part. He simply wouldn't accept my money.

My fatigue was less urgent than my hunger. This place, The Regal Internet Inn, was about 30 steps from a major street (3 lanes each way, separated by a median strip), and across the street was a shopping area with lots of activity. My door had a hasp but no lock, so I left my backpack (containing only clothes), took my day pack, and went across the street. There were lots of cars, motorcycles and pedestrians, and a few bikes. The night was warm and comfortable, but the smoggy air was stinging my throat. This was a thriving commercial area, even this late at night. I bought fried chicken from a friendly vendor, then saw some people in a parked car eating ice cream. They readily pointed to the side street for the ice cream place. It made a fine late night meal. It was midnight when I got back to my room. The electricity was back on, and the fan in my room was on all night long.

A nice surprise: Got up the next morning about 7:30; was in a common area looking at a paper when Carlos walked in. Carlos, the very nice Colombian guy from the Madina Guest House. It was good to see him again. We had a very pleasant talk, then he left to take care of a visa.

With time before my flight there's a chance to see a little in Lahore. Guidebook shows a good museum less than a mile down the main street. The walk would be nice, but traffic is heavy and so is the smog. Here's a couple things about the traffic: 1. The air is bad. Unlike in Delhi, seems like none of the vehicles run on CNG. It stinks, and it hearts my nose and throat. The guidebook warns about it. 2. There are lots of traffic police around. Saw several tickets being given. I was standing at a light waiting for the light to change, as were numbers of bikes, motorbikes, rickshaws and cars. A cop walked over and pulled two pedal bikes off to the side and started writing something up. No idea what, but they're busy.

So off to the museum. Easy to find an autorickshaw. Told him my destination and got in. We were in a combination parking area/ service road adjacent to the main street by my hotel. The museum was about 2 km down that street, but instead of going there he went off on a side street. None of the cross streets were at right angles, so he was making lots of rights and lefts, getting us back toward the main road and the museum. It was ok with me to see more of the city, and we weren't going a long way out of the way. It would have been so much easier to stay on the main street. Again, practicing the concept of staying calm and keeping things in perspective, I just went with the flow, but decided not to tip him.

After a while we were back at the main street. He stopped and pointed to a building behind some trees. It was a quarter block away and no name was visible. He said, "Museum" a couple times and I told him to take me to it. He refused, then finally did, although it involved driving about 30 meters going the wrong way on the main street, then pulling into the exit driveway of what was in fact the museum. A security/parking guard yelled at my driver, and the driver said something, pointing at me. I paid him and walked over to the ticket office, feeling pleased with myself for staying calm and not getting upset over a minor thing, even though he did go out of the way.

Well the museum visit was interesting, but I wasn't that focused. It would be interesting to go back with some more energy. After a little while decided to walk back to my hotel. I bought some fresh squeezed juice - orange and pomegranate - from a street vendor. It gave me a chance to see how they get the pomegranate seeds out. They cut and break the fruit apart, then beat on the skin with a stick to knock the seeds into a bucket. They also flavor the juice with a little salt. It tasted very good, and the salt is probably good for people on the very hot summer days.

Two more ice cream cones gave me the energy to get back, pick up my backpack and get a taxi to the airport. The hotel clerk said don't take a rickshaw because "they're not allowed on the main road." Whoa, so that explains what happened on the way to the museum, both the round about way and the reluctance to drop me right at the door. Once again in Pakistan my suspicion has been ill-founded. Oh well. Live and learn.

Another chance to laugh - at myself.
My flight leaves Lahore at 4 pm. Per the desk clerk, an airport taxi is 500 rupees and takes 15 minutes. The bus is just 20 rupees, but takes over an hour - in traffic and smog. My throat already hurts, so a taxi it is, and a taxi stand is across the street. The first driver I ask says 300 rupees. Great. His name is Ali. We have a nice conversation on the way. He gets me there in plenty of time to check in, get through ticketing, passport control and security, and into the waiting area well over an hour before my flight. I'm feeling comfortable and relaxed, and am relishing many wonderful memories of the trip, but it will also feel good to be home. As I begin writing in my journal a euphoric feeling spreads through me.

It's a typical airport waiting area, with food stands, retail stores and duty free shops. A guy in some kind of outfit or uniform comes up and says, "Would you like some tea?" Well that's nice. Sure, I say, but first, where's a place to change money? (Pakistani rupees aren't easily convertible outside Pakistan.) The money exchanges are on the other side of security, so are no longer accessible to me. He takes me to the closest shop, a snack bar, and they have some dollars they've taken in. The exchange rate has generally been about 60 rupees to the dollar, but when the guy calculates the exchange he uses 61.5. Wow, that's better than I expected. He doesn't have enough dollars to take all my rupees, but he takes most.

In a couple minutes the guy comes with the tea, and he also has a wrapped piece of cake and a sandwich. It's the same snack as on my flight yesterday. So that's it. This must be something PIA (Pakistan International Airlines) does for its passengers. It's a continuation of the hospitality Brad first wrote about and which we both experienced so often. This latest example is worth noting in my journal, and I do, noting that the same treatment is given to two other tourists. By the time my flight is called the tea and food are gone, having contributed to the warm feeling in my stomach and my overall euphoric state.

As I'm gathering my stuff (notebook, water bottle, etc) the first guy comes up with a piece of paper and says "bill" and "280 rupees." He sees my confused look and quickly points out that I ate the cake and sandwich. It catches me off guard. Something doesn't seem as it should be, but what it is eludes me, and I pay. A little later it dawns on me. Of course it wasn't PIA. It was a clever merchant who has found a way to get money from tourists just as they're leaving the country. I could have argued that the tea was "offered" and the food "given" to me, indicating a gift, or I simply could have refused to pay, and just boarded the plane. Those responses, however, would have required a greater alertness than existed in my current euphoric state.

And another thing, the exchange rate was in his favor, not mine. And then the whole picture became clear to me. And it made me laugh. It made me laugh at the irony. After experiencing so many acts of generosity and hospitality on this trip, my last experience in Pakistan, something just recorded in my journal as another act of hospitality, was actually a scam, a scam for only a few dollars, but still a scam.

It made me laugh then, and whenever it occurred to me on the long flight home it made me laugh again. And when my cousin was driving me home from the airport and I told him about it, we both laughed. And writing this now and remembering what happened makes me laugh again.

It was a long trip home: Lahore to Delhi was just an hour, but then a 10 hour wait before the 15 hour flight to Newark, and a 4 hour wait till the 3 hour flight to Denver. And my trip had actually started in Chitral 30 hours before leaving Lahore. Thinking about it now makes me tired, and looking at my scrawled journal entries confirms the fuzzy state of my mind then. But that was then, and was very short-lived.

What's clear to me is that it's all part of the bigger journey. It's a great journey if we live it moment by moment and accept it as it is.

Memories of the trip come to mind whenever they want and whenever I want to call them up, all the time Brad and I spent together and all the experiences we had - the good ones, the great ones, the indescribably joyous ones, and...... the, uh... interesting ones. They all make up the story of the trip and contribute to the fabric of my life. And when the memories come up, my response (if my thinking is clear) is always the same: feelings of gratitude, contentment, joy, love. It makes me smile, and breathe deeply, and be thankful. Except the memory of the final airport scam - that makes me laugh.

This is the end of the story this blog intended to tell. Thank you if you've gotten this far. I hope it's been interesting and fun and maybe even informative. Any comments you'd like to make, either within the blog or to my email dave@sander.com will be greatly appreciated. Peace, and good travels to you.

#21 OOPS -PICTURES AND STUFF FORGOTTEN

Here are some pictures and stuff that didn't get included anywhere else, but seemed interesting to me.

Pakistani faces
These are just some of the people encountered along the way.
Man & daughters on the lane outside our hotel.

Policemen near the Booni marketplace.

Just a man and his grandson.














Typical boys on a Booni path.







These three girls just showed up in the courtyard of the hotel for a few minutes, agreed to have their pictures taken, then left.





Two school girls on a Booni path.






These kids were attending a wedding next door to the home of Aftaab's grandfather in Parwak.




This man walked by the same day the forester and son came. They were almost the only people we saw on the ridge, and we only saw them that one day.




More miscellaneous stuff:
Khowar is the spoken language of the Chitral region, but Urdu (similar to Hindi) and English are taught in the schools. As we know, English is written from left to right, but Urdu and Khowar are written right to left. Cleverly, the front and back page of students' notebooks are identical. That way they can start from either end, depending on which language they're writing. The national news on TV is presented in Urdu, but with some comments in English. The text at the bottom of the screen scrolls in the appropriate direction for the language. (Likewise, the arrival/departure alternates between Urdu and English, English starting at the left side, Urdu, the right.) The newscasters speak Urdu (at least for the little we watched), but there are lots of quotes or clips in English. Pakistanis love their cricket, and the matches are on national TV. Interestingly, cricket commentary is in English.

Eating. Much food is eaten without utensils, so hands get dirty. Light paper napkins (1 per person) were available in some restaurants. In a home it was more likely that there would be a box of tissues (like Kleenex), and at the end of the meal a small bath towel would be passed around for all to use.

HOTELS: In two of the places we stayed there was a colorful cloth (about 2 x 3 feet) folded on the night table. It was a prayer rug. Naturally, we referred to it as the "Gideon Prayer Rug."