Appendectomy

I'm sure a few of you have noticed the lack of new blog posts recently, and may be concerned. Unfortunately the reason for this is not good.

Andy's appendix decided to reach 5000m then give up. He got to a hospital in Gilgit in time and had it out on Thursday. He has now been let out of the hospital and is on the mend in a guesthouse in Gilgit.

both Andy and Pete will be coming back to the UK in a few days. Andy will then go home to be cared for by his parents who, for those of you who don't know Andy, are both doctors! Pete will go home to sort out flights and will meet Mike and me in Osh, probably a little later than planned.

I believe that Andy wants to come back out when he's recovered, that is up to his belly to decide!

Rush from peak

We are back in the happy, happy Hunza valley after trekking a speedy day ahead of schedule thanks to, or at least due to, some knowledgeable stage planning from our porter come guide named M.Hussain (the M is for Mohamed but that is reserved fro the prophet). Fitting the route in, or at least a local adaptation of it, in four days kept our heart rates high and our porridge and macaroni fatigued jaws gaping.

We arrived in the Hoper valley - where the weed is real weed - and, with much satisfaction, managed to acquire the services of M.Hussain, no prior booking necessary.
The first day took us across two rocky glaciers and into the dusty pastures of an ablation valley along side the second. We camped at a place named Berichio Kor – the musician’s cave, in which our frequently humming guide slept. On the second day, we climbed up into the mist and decided to stop by a dry shepherds’ hut at Gutens and await views and aclimatisation. We drank tea with the shepherds, one of whom was a local medical student on a summer break. On the third day, we rose again – a lot – climbing the ridge from Gutens to a lake at Rush Phari and, with the last pants of thin air, scrambled up the rocky, snow spattered slopes to the 5098-metre summit of Rush Peak and clearing midday views of the Karakorum range – K2, unfortunately, still clouded. Whether it was the height, the heat or the scenery that was getting to our heads we hurried back to Gutens and made it before sundown. Today compressed two shorter days but we were back in Hoper by twelve: cunningly scurting the contours gently down into the ablation valley and recrossing the first day’s glaciers.

We return to Karimabad with numb feet and high on our own blood at half the height of yesterday.

Apology for apology

It seems Andy, his eccentric gut, eclectic literature and possibly too many apricots have driven him to madness. Apologies are fruitless. The only foreseeable cure is to follow the opinions of Hitler and Hume and commit all his fiction to the flames (the more fanciful bits of lonely planet guides excluded at this point).

Sorry. Is this all seeming a bit contrived? Should we leave and have supper? Don’t worry the proper entries are almost done.

An Apology

I should really start with an apology for Andy’s last blog. By way of explanation he has been reading a 1923 translation of Marco Polo’s Journals and the tone, I fear, rubbed off a bit. Never fear – it is printed on paper that is far too thick and will soon be discarded. Here’s hoping the feather-light musings of Dostoevsky don’t warp Andy’s prose further.

Apricots in Hunza

Ok so it hasn’t been too long before we’ve discovered another line to the outside world…

It took us two days in Gilgit to recover from the bus journey. There were friendly faces but this is a troubled town. The security got tight just before we left after intra-Islamic tensions resulted in three murders in town. Peace still reigned in the Medina Guesthouse.

We are now in the Hunza valley - a timeless utopia of snow crested peaks, barren rocky slopes and a green swathe of cypres trees and apricot orchards. The people seem to get even nicer the further north we come and there have been some great guesthouse evening meals - a French motorcycling family, discussing the poor state of Cambridge clubs with a Northern Irish guy traveling by land to the Aussie rules/Gaelic football international in Perth in October. Even the Irish find the hospitality here good.

Tomorrow we’ll get to the trailhead at Hoppar for our first trek – a five day route taking in glaciers and a 5000 metre peak.

Twenty-one hours later

It would be fair to say that the 600 km journey from Rawalpindi to Gilgit took a while. Leaving ‘Pindi just after seven, we were on the Karakorum Highway and heading north within the hour. Progress seemed good at our first stop in Mansehra; it was only the air conditioning that had gone awry. Soon, however the bus had second thoughts: Heat stroke? Radiator? Transmission? Only better Urdu than mine could tell. The fact remained – we had to turn back.

Back in Mansehra again, the mechanics slipped under chassis, shooing a cockerel. The bus’ modern shell clearly concealed something far simpler and we were soon off. Gaining altitude the bus began to feel at home. The driver was soon weaving past the elephant-like, glammed-up, Bedford trucks trudging their way to China and serenading every goat, van, and child with the claxon in preference to applying brakes.

After a lunch, the route joined the valley of the Indus river. The peaks, still clad with trees, plummeting, near shear, to the vast, glacier-fed, raging waters below. Wherever the gradient gave the slightest license, hamlets had sprung - flat-roved mud brick houses amid terraced paddy fields. At intervals, tributaries joined; rushing white or smudging pure icy blue with the brown bulk.

Trees began to dwindle as the rocky outcrops caught the evening light. We revved on – still weaving, still honking – at aeroplane altitude above the darkened valley floor.

What had, by day, been a peaceful, if not a slightly hairy drive became, by night the stuff of real frontier territory. The bus crept through the moonlit debris of landslide zones. At the regional border we were directed under full darkness to a small tent hiding two afghan raider types holding books within which we were to write our name and passport, please. We woke to find the bus stopped awaiting the collection of a robbery-safe military police convoy.

This morning, stiff and weary, we were left 5 km outside Gilgit to await a taxi and the dawn.

The guesthouse is giving Andy flashbacks of India - full of affected long-termers who just hum and discuss bowl movements. It’s more of a trekkers’ sanctuary, with the first western faces we’ve seen since arrival, within the police-heavy outpost that is Gilgit. One of the three guards outside the new polo ground admitted, “Current conditions aren’t right for playing.”

We’ve ventured out under full heat among other mad dog Lonely-Planet-Wielders in search of the digital world and now it’s time to get back to the real one.

We now have a five-day trek to sort out and complete, before crossing the Chinese border. It may be some time before the next blog.

In search of the bus

Yesterday, after a morning completing the longest sleep since... (Andy pauses to consider) Easter, we set out for Taxila - a world heritage site west of Rawalpindi, which was a hugely curious mix of Greek and Persian ruins with Buddist Temples. Soon perloined by the museum gaurds as western business men, we were rescued by Salman, a religious researcher visiting for the day. He became our host, translator and friend.

Today, it was off to find bus tickets to head north. Making to the bus station by bedazzling suzuki minibus and motor rickshaw. The wheels kicked up dust from streets that had seen no morning rain for the first time since our arrival. The driver seemed to get a little lost on the way, slowing down and surupticiously asking for directions.

He got a hunch and we made it, but once there finding the booking office was a harder task. "N-A-T-C-O" we spelt out. bus to Gilgit? Waved arm gesture after waved arm gesture. We were walking round in circles and picking up beggars. A glimpse of the company logo - no, this was just the repair depot. More asking - we seemed to have the internation completely wrong - more hands. The office lay in prime position, a wrong turn early on had lead us on a grand tour.

Our complex plans of stops along the way had to be dropped. This is a fourteen to seventeen hour ordeal - take it or leave it. Tomorrow will be fun. We wandered to the hotel past streets lined with stalls - melons, salt, watches, mangoes, unknown vegetables, bananas, exhaust pipes, microwaves, dates.
We stopped at a truck repair site where they disguise Bedford trucks as if for carnaval, the proud workmen keen for photos. The streets were packed - apprentices carrying tea. Where did all these people actually live? Cutting through a half finished municipal park that had already seen better days we stumbled on the answer. Empty residential streets, bar a truck loading man-sized blocks of ice.

Time to get packing, early start tomorrow. Next stop Gilgit.

Rain in Rawalpindi

Islamabad/Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
Local time 9pm (GMT+5)

Flight BA129 landed at Islamabad International at 5:40 with Andy and I still on board. However, with two other flights deciding to do the same, the Interpol-database-empowered boarder staff of one was overwhelmed and it was two hours before we were finally reunited with our check-in luggage. During this time we already began to see the friendly Pakistani conversationalist at work; a lengthy discussion - on Orwell, castles, cricket, trekking - with a Chicago communications engineer born in Pakistan.
The airport exit was crowded with prospective welcome committees sheltering from the unanticipated downpour. We soon found ours in the form of a taxi driver with a brother in Birmingham. It was time for inaugural traffic experience. Horn cacophony, beggar at window, motor rickshaw, minibus, reverse, forward, brake, accelerate - and all before we left the car park.
Our initial destination, the New Kamran Hotel, was tucked into the boy racer stall district. The buildings upper floors blazoned with publicity boards - ENGLISH SHOES "buy one, get one free". The room is simple, but high-ceilinged and made reminiscent of the opening scene in Apocalypse Now by a large fan spinning above us as we drift in and out of jet lag and culture shock. Our morning excursions in search of breakfast, tourist offices, water, travellers cheque exchange and all the tourist trappings blurred so that I don't know how often we left and returned to the room. After a morning tramping the streets chased by taxi horns, we plucked up the courage to take the 12 km bounce of a bus ride to Islamabad.
Islamabad is the purpose built capital of Pakistan (still under construction) of the school of Brasilia, Canberra and Washington and is set out in sectors like the squares of a battleship board. It has the grandeur of wide avenues and plenty of palacial official buildings, but lacks the general bustle, grit and pong-range we got from Rawalpindi in the morning. Sorting the formalities of money and lunch, we made for the grand mosque on the outskirts. Not knowing quite what to expect we found a serene atmosphere of a stadium capacity modern building with some vague Sydney opera house styling set against a backdrop of hills (our first sign of any diversion from the flat) - an impressive sight/site.
I'm now ensconced in an computer booth and feeling quite tired. Our introduction to Pakistan has, thus far, found it very hospitable with an incredibly welcoming populace ready to greet and enter discussion to the best of their English speaking ability. That said, our Urdu is still in need of much practice.
Tomorrow and Sunday promise more exploration, further afield, before we head north for Gilgit on Monday.
Next expected post: Sunday 17 th July

All packed up and off we go...

I'm not quite dressed yet, there's half an hour to get to the bus stop, and yet now distraction has led me to describe the situation - only making it worse. No... don't panic... it is actually all under control. I've got clothes now. The bus stop's just round the corner and all the photocopying I could ever wish to do is done. Right, best be off.

Next expected post: 16 July, Islamabad

3 camels and a goat?

As everything seems to be getting started, I thought I might as well post at least an introduction. First, I should explain my lack of blog posts so far - I'm not leaving for another 3 weeks. In fact, it's now only a matter of hours until I am the only one of the group still in the UK.

This explains my first role in the expedition of finding all the last minute gear and stuffing it all into my rucsack before I leave on the 5th of August. My other role stems from the fact that I'm the only girl in the group. Now, you never know what might happen, and it's always a good idea to have some spare currency just in case. I believe that the boys have had a few meetings,and have come to the decision that, if the situation arises, I would be worth 3 camels and a goat. We'll see about that.

Welcome

To anyone who has just received an invitation to visit this site, congratulations your internet skills have been vindicated - you've come to the right place. Browse away…

…To anyone else, well done anyway but if you were expecting to find an Eminem fan site you've been misled at some point I'm afraid.

Canvassing support

Braving the light drizzle and patchy clouds, I set out to the very moderately high planes of the nearest park to put Mike's tent under the test. Could I put it up with out it blowing away over a cliff? Yes. And take it down? No, well eventually yes, but I had fun waving above my head for a while first. It is very light and rigid, which helps for a tent and it even has potential as a hot air balloon. Pegs optional, I think. Although, we did manage to stomp down all eleven supplied with room for several more.

Show me the way to go home

To complete the picture here is another pretty looking picture of how to get from Tashkent, Uzbekistan / Almaty, Kazakhstan to... home (almost) on 13 September:

[Click image to enlarge]

Route map

Ok. So here's a sketch map of how it all works:

[Click on image to enlarge]