‘Pakistan?’ I repeated somewhat
doubtfully. ‘Are you sure I'll get my White Christmas?’
Little did I know, as the three of us set off for Karachi on the
eve of Christmas Eve, just how wonderfully white our Christmas
was going to be.
After a long night of flying and waiting for a connecting flight from Karachi, we arrived in Islamabad. We hired a taxi to take us from the airport all the way to Peshawar, our first stop. Along the way, we stopped to visit a museum exhibiting the rich and varied history of the area dating back to Alexander the Great. It was interesting for history buffs, a little daunting for a sleep deprived ignoramus.
Peshawar, a small and dusty town, is the gateway to the Khyber Pass. We found ourselves a guide and an armed guard (mandatory) to take us as near the Afghan Border as permissible. The Khyber Pass consists of a long road winding through dry, brown and mountainous terrain, along which flows a constant stream of lorries carrying what appears to be contraband goods. There are shops openly selling arms of all sorts where anyone can buy his weapon of choice, from rifles to innocent looking pen guns. There was a certain tension in the air and a feeling that the slightest incident could spark an eruption of violence.
After spending a night in Peshawar, we headed
for the Swat Valley. With the help of our
friendly
hotel proprietors, we found a taxi driver willing to take us
across the 177 kilometres to Madyan. After the crowded and rather
dirty town of Peshawar, it was delightful to find the Madyan
Hotel set right next to the fast-flowing Swat River with a scenic
backdrop of steep wooded hills. We discovered that we were the
only guests at the hotel that night. We had a quiet Christmas
dinner of fresh river trout in the hotel’s big empty dining
room, served by one old waiter. There was a chill in the air
which pierced right through to our bones. Our room was freezing.
There was only one small bar heater which gave such a small
radius of heat that to get any warmth from it, one needed to
huddle not further than a couple of inches away. I was very glad
to snuggle into my down sleeping bag and fell happily asleep to
the sound of the river just outside my window.
The next morning, we took a leisurely stroll
along the river’s edge enjoying the clean fresh air and had
our first glimpse of snowcapped peaks. As we clambered into yet
another taxi which would take us to our next destination, Kalam,
previously unnoticed hotel staff appeared seemingly out of
nowhere to wave goodbye to us.
We reached Kalam at dusk to find the town under
a light layer of snow. The place looked deserted and we drove
from hotel to hotel only to find that they were all closed for
the winter. Disappointed, we decided that we had no choice but to
go back down to Madyan. Just then, a group of men walked out of
the dark. One of them, a very big, tall man, approached us to ask
if we needed any help. It turned out that he was a guide and that
he knew a hotel that would give us a room. He also offered to
take us in his four-wheel drive the next morning for a tour of
Kalam and the Ushu Valley and then on to Miandam, which was next
on our itinerary. My friend, K, did not think it was a good idea
to trust these strangers, but on a vote of two to one, we decided
to stay; the thought of the snow covered valley was just too
tempting.
There was no electricity or running water in the town. I felt rather guilty as our hotel proprietors cranked up their generator to provide us with light, using what I suspected was the last of their fuel supply. They served us a meal of watery rice and something else which I could not identify. I forced myself to swallow as much of the gruel as I could while (incongruously) watching cable television by the dim light provided by one naked light bulb. By the time we went to our room for the night, they had filled the stove in our room with wood and had a nice fire going. The room was surprisingly warm. The ‘bathroom’ was not particularly inviting, so I jumped into my sleeping bag practically as I was. K spent a miserable night worrying (and worrying the two of us) about what was going to happen to us the next day. He was convinced that we were going to be robbed and murdered. Looking back, I suppose his concern was not totally unfounded in that the area we were in was very isolated and they could have done anything they wished to us and no one would have been the wiser. (We did see a man walking along the road the next day carrying a rifle and naively believed that he had it for hunting. We learned later that there had been violent outbreaks in the area not too long before.) Fortunately for us, our guide turned out to be really friendly and nice, as were the people at the hotel.
The next day, we awoke to find that the whole world was covered with a thick white blanket. It had snowed heavily during the night. We found that the town was not as deserted as had appeared the previous night as the villagers emerged from their homes to go about their daily chores.
The children ran around the streets playing with
the snow. As we drove beyond Kalam into the Ushu Valley, we found
ourselves in what I can only describe as a ‘ winter
wonderland’. However cliched that may sound, I could not
help singing that refrain in my head over and over again. The
mountain slopes and pine forests, the river catching the sunlight
as it ran through the valley, and even a picturesque little red
roofed hotel nestled amongst the trees by the river’s edge,
all covered in the most pristine white snow, was simply
breathtaking. There was hardly anyone around to disturb this
amazingly beautiful scene. It was a perfect picture of Christmas.
As we drove on, the snow continued to fall intermittently. Slowly, we descended to reach the town of Miandam, a very pretty tourist resort, surrounded by terraced fields and snow-capped peaks. We stayed at the Pakistan Tourism Development Corporation Motel. We had a prettily-decorated room with a big fireplace. From the garden right outside our room, one had an excellent view of the mountains in the distance. The snow was still fluttering down as we took a walk through the village. That night, we sat around the fireplace staring into the flames, contentedly reliving the beauty we had experienced that day.
We left the Swat Valley the next day. We intended to stay in Muree, an old English hill station, not far from Islamabad. Our taxi, however, could not take us up as there had been heavy snow. We decided to stay in Islamabad instead and make a day trip to Muree the next day. Our second attempt up was successful and we joined a huge crowd of people there for the day to enjoy the snow, slipping and sliding in the streets and generally having a good time. The drive down was an adventure in itself. There was a long queue of cars making the slow hazardous journey down the steep winding road. Very few of the cars were equipped for the snowy, icy conditions. Thank goodness for the snow which had piled up high all along the side of the road acting as the only barrier to the long fall off the side of the hill. Each car, including ours, would make it a little way and then skid into the snow barrier, its passengers would then all climb out, push the car back on course and the whole process would begin all over again. Amazingly, there were no serious accidents at all.
We spent another day in Islamabad before catching our flight home. I must say that Pakistan really surprised me with the beauty it has to offer. The people that we met were all very friendly and helpful, although I have heard that women travellers sometimes encounter difficulties as it is a very traditional, male dominated Muslim society. All in all, it was an excellent holiday, filled with adventure and magnificent scenery and I would love to return one day to see the rest of the Swat Valley.
Jean Tan
Photographs by Yee Hsien Ping