AFP - by Jennie Matthew
Getting there may be a nightmare, but trekking in the Hindu Kush and a spot of polo can teach you all you need to know about Pakistan.
It's a crash course in fiendish bureaucracy, terrifying roads and physical discomfort, but also a lesson in the incredible generosity and spectacular beauty that challenge the stereotypes of a country now unfortunately synonymous with Al-Qaeda and the Taliban.
"Oh, it's great. It's just a 50-minute flight and so beautiful," cooed one friend when I told her I was going to Chitral, the most northwesterly pocket of Pakistan up in the mountains on the Afghan border.
In the stifling heat of Islamabad, promises of balmy climes, the spectacle of freestyle polo and snow-capped peaks always sound alluring. And indeed they were. But it took two days, three aborted attempts, 16 hours' driving and two hours at an army checkpoint to enjoy them.
In the stifling heat of Islamabad, promises of balmy climes, the spectacle of freestyle polo and snow-capped peaks always sound alluring. And indeed they were. But it took two days, three aborted attempts, 16 hours' driving and two hours at an army checkpoint to enjoy them.
"Most people would have given up," was a refrain I heard a lot from other guests, mostly Pakistanis, ensconced in wicker chairs from the paradise of the lavender-scented gardens at the Hindu Kush Heights hotel.
One flight was canceled because of bad weather. A second likewise, only it wasn't, the airline official just said it was.
So we drove. NOCs -- the dubiously named "non-objection certificates" that allow foreigners to travel -- stowed in my bag, what was there to worry about? Only, it turned out, the army doesn't accept NOCs from the government, making it quite clear who's in charge despite a return to democratically elected, civilian rule.
In the end, frantic calls and the kindness of a well-connected friend finally allowed us to cross the checkpoint, and arrive, exhausted, after a bone crunching 12-hour drive. That in itself was a miracle.
AFP Photo/Jewel Samad
In 2009, when I moved to Pakistan, the road was impassable for Westerners because the Taliban controlled the Swat valley and much of Dir, until the army succeeded in killing them or kicking them across into Afghanistan.
Climbing higher, whisking past towns and villages of bustling markets and women shoppers -- albeit in burqas and heavy veils -- it was a pleasure to realize that at least in one part of the country, life has improved. Even if hoteliers still struggle to fill rooms.
Trekking is not for the faint hearted, even if professionals would probably classify my two-day experience "rambling".
Wiry porters darted ahead weighed down with luggage, food and camping gear, pushing laden donkeys up mountain goat tracks, as I gasped for breath and panicked about whether my light-headedness was altitude sickness.
A night spent camped on a windswept plateau in a state-of-the-art tent with brand-new sleeping bags challenged my expat sensibilities about luxuries, as the porters, wearing the same clothes they had worn all day, barely acknowledged the cold.
But the polo was pure Pakistan. Chitral against neighboring province Gilgit. Every year, dashing riders in breaches face off 'freestyle', 25 minutes each way on an immaculate grass pitch on the Shandur Pass at 3,738 meters. There are no rules and seemingly no umpire. It's fast and furious, and punishing on the horses. The Gilgit team played without helmets, but Chitral won 10-5.
The second play ended, police cordoned off the pitch to any would-be rioters. The previous day, police opened fire after disaffected supporters starting chucking chairs.
This is Pakistan after all. Chaos is never far away.