# 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.