My family, and my doctor, didn’t want me to go here. I went anyway

There was a slight pause on the phone, just long enough to hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end, then my doctor’s concerned voice: “why?”

I’ve just told him that in a few months I’m travelling to Gilgit-Baltistan, a mountainous province in northern Pakistan bordering China. To be fair, my doctor joins a gathering chorus of concerned friends and family who are all asking the same thing.

The sane chorus of questions tend to follow: Isn’t the Taliban there? Don’t they have sharia law? It is true Pakistan has been embroiled in ongoing internal and external conflicts since it was established after the partition of India in 1947. Its image was also tarred after parts of the country became associated with Islamic extremism during the Bush administration’s war on terror (Osama Bin Laden was caught and killed in Abbottabad, just north of the capital, in 2011).

With that infamous conflict receding into history’s rearview mirror, the south Asian country is taking steps to repair its image abroad. Pakistan launched its first national tourism board in 2023, and last year agreed to waive e-visa fees for 120 countries, including Australia. Meanwhile, the government is lobbying UNESCO to recognise 26 historical and cultural treasures across the country.

Pakistan isn’t the first and won’t be the last nation to labour under the weight of an unsavoury reputation. Previous battleground nations, such as Croatia, Namibia and Nicaragua, have shown they can win over tourists with their natural and cultural charms, while others have been able to buy positive press (looking at you, Saudi Arabia). Adopting the philosophy that people are not their government, especially in a country with 17 distinct tribal groups, I decided if there was ever a time to visit Pakistan it was now.

The focus of my trip is the 1300-kilometre Karakoram Highway, a serpentine band of concrete laid over a stretch of the ancient Silk Road formerly used by traders to transport silks, spices and other riches from Asia to Europe. In 1978, following 20 years of construction, the route was sealed and reopened as part of a partnership between Pakistan and China. It remains a vital artery shared by farmers riding donkeys and rumbling Pakistani trucks garishly decorated with Quranic text and artwork.

Technically, the highway starts from the capital, Islamabad, but I’m short on time so I’ve cheated and flown directly to Gilgit, the regional capital of Gilgit Baltistan. Gilgit is also the gateway to the Hunza Valley, a Shangri-La where golden poplar trees bristle up mountain ridges and glaciers feed turquoise rivers laced with thin cable bridges. Three mountain ranges, the Himalayas, Karakoram and Hindukush, intersect here, framing the cliff-top villages with glorious snow-capped peaks.

Gazing out from the top of Altit Fort, all I can see is mountains on mountains on mountains. It’s late October and still warm, but the clawing wind reminds me autumn is just around the corner. Built in the 11th century in Karimabad, the former regional capital, the wood and stone fort housed Hunza’s rulers and was a strategic place to observe traders and enemies along the Silk Road.

“It’s still keeping an eye on people today,” says Aisha Riaz, my Intrepid Travel guide, a firebrand in a red hat and black sunglasses who effortlessly switches between describing the region’s history and debating geopolitics. Aisha nods towards the security camera poking out beneath the watchtower’s eaves, its black eye trained on a group of Thai tourists posing for a photo.

Aisha tells me the fort, which is the oldest monument in Hunza, was in a dire state of disrepair. With the Pakistani government too cash strapped and distracted by political turmoil in the south, it was the Aga Khan Foundation who stepped in to save it in the late 1990s.

Founded in 1967 by Prince Karim Al Hussaini, effectively the Ismaili Muslim equivalent of the Catholic Pope, the benevolent organisation invested heavily in improving quality of life across the region by repairing historical sites, building schools and medical centres, and developing solar power plants.

Between the foundation’s development and the new Karakoram Highway, Hunza has prospered. Improved infrastructure brought the internet, modernising the old Silk Road and creating more opportunities for education, work and tourism.

While a niche mountain climbing community has persisted here since the 1980s, mostly to summit K2, foreign visitors are still a novelty, one locals consider a blessing. More than once, I’m approached in the street by men with nothing to sell me but a smile and welcoming handshake.

After climbing a steep staircase to the seat of Ondra Fort, where we enjoy sweeping views of the Hunza River, we are stopped during our descent by a woman offering us crisp red apples for our efforts. When our guide’s aunty learned we were nearby, she invited us for morning tea of dried apricots and freshly baked bread, and an impromptu traditional dance performance from her 11-year-old son, Reza. Sitting cross-legged on plush red carpets, our group claps along to music blaring from a Bluetooth speaker. Aisha tells me how a video of Reza dancing went viral during the pandemic, garnering so much attention he was invited to perform in Islamabad.

Internet fame has also come to other parts of the valley. Wannabe daredevils’ film themselves crossing Hussaini Suspension Bridge, a precarious 193-metre-long rope bridge spanning the Hunza River that looks dangerous but is used daily by locals. At Glacier Breeze Restaurant, chef Ahmed Ali Khan tells me how his apricot cake, made from his grandmother’s recipe, leapt from Lonely Planet guidebooks in 2003 to social media renown. He bakes up to 50 cakes a day and even ships them to family members in Australia.

Biting into the crisp loaf cake and its sticky, intensely moreish fruity filling is addictive, and I’m delighted when I learn Aisha has stowed a handful of cakes for our group to enjoy during our onward drive to Shimshal Village.

Shimshal’s residents used to walk three days along a dusty track to get supplies from a neighbouring village, but an unsealed road connecting Shimshal to the Karakoram Highway was eventually completed in 2003 after 18 years of construction. Swapping our van for 4WDs, we rumble beside precipitous cliffs, give way to road-hogging yaks and cross rope bridges suspended over raging rivers. Eventually, the narrow canyon broadens into wide valleys, where we find residents herding goats and tending to vegetable patches inside gleaming greenhouses.

It turns out the village is having a wedding and, true to Pakistani hospitality, we’re invited. Riotous drumming fills the air when we arrive at the bride’s house to find men, some dressed in customary white garb and others sporting plush red jackets with jeans, dancing in a large circle. The wedding photographer’s drone buzzes overhead.

It’s time to feast so the men and women split up to eat at separate houses, but Aisha has scored me an invite to join the women. We dine on a wedding dish of boiled goat neck, flatbread and dip called but, which is flour-based and resembles hummus. Afterwards, the women dance and sing, their rich harmonious soprano filling the small house. One tells me such customs aren’t long for this world, explaining how the new road is a double-edge sword. It has brought medicine and supplies to improve Shimshal’s quality of life, but also introduced alcohol and rubbish and enticed their youth to leave for the city.

It’s a three-day journey from Shimshal to Islamabad, which still doesn’t give me enough time to process Pakistan’s contradictions: beautiful but scarred by conflicts old and recent, enthusiastically hospitable but still dangerous in parts, cleaving to tradition while embracing modernity.

As influencers and wide-eyed tourists start flocking to Pakistan, Aisha and I debate whether the country, which is still reliant on foreign support to build infrastructure, will be able to sustainably manage its burgeoning tourism industry. Aisha is adamant about one thing: by visiting, travellers can make sure their money is going directly to communities who need it and help reverse unfair stereotypes.

“The most common question people get is ‘why’? You don’t need a ‘why’ to visit Pakistan,” says Aisha. “We have thousands of years of history and culture. If there’s one thing I want to change, it’s that Pakistan is sometimes looked down on by the rest of the world, but it has so much to give.”

THE DETAILS

FLY
Emirates, Etihad and Qatar fly to Islamabad with a stopover in Dubai or Doha. Thai Airways also flies to Islamabad via Bangkok.

TOUR
Intrepid Travel offers a collection of small-group tours of Pakistan, including a 15-day expedition to Islamabad, Hunza Valley and Lahore. Tours start from $6250 and include a guide, most meals, transport and activities, such as hikes, workshops and musical performances. See intrepidtravel.com

SAFETY
The Australian government’s Smart Traveller advisory website recommends visitors to Pakistan reconsider their need to travel, citing a heightened security situation and ongoing tension with India. Travel insurance is essential. Double-check that your cover will include 24/7 emergency assistance and medical evacuation. See smartraveller.gov.au/destinations/asia/pakistan

MORE
tourism.gov.pk

The writer travelled as a guest of Intrepid Travel.

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