#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.