Karakoram is cok guzel!

Among his other passions in life, Ibrahim loved Uzbek pop music. He also loved Shakira. In fact, Ibrahim, our driver for four days along the Karakoram Highway (KKH), loved Latino pop music so much that at least once a day, he played his tape of The Best of Latino Pop 2000 (a fine selection of tunes from Julio Iglesias, J. Lo, and of course, Shakira). Also, on more than one occasion, he expressed to me in broken Mandarin how “amazing” he thought Shakira was and how he “loveeeeeeeeeed” Latino music.

Ibrahim’s musical preference was very much appreciated by Yenny (pronounced Jenny) and Dominic, a Colombian and a Swiss-that-might-as-well-have-been-Colombian). Every time Shakira’s voice boomed from Ibrahim’s car stereo, the sound of Yenny and Dominic’s real life back up choir would also soar from the back seats of Ibrahim’s little green Kashgar Taxi (a Volkswagen Santana). The daily Latino music was driving me crazy.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Latino music. But as the old adage goes, everything’s good in small doses – and this was far surpassing that limit. However great the beating my sanity took, now when I reminisce about those few days spent on the KKH, the only accompanying music I can think of are the various Shakira songs. For example:

- Our fist view of Karakul Lake: Eyes Like Yours
- Leaving the peaceful Tajik town of Tashkurgan: Whenever, Wherever
- Anywhere else in the mountains: Suerte

Looking back, I guess I have to admit that the Latino music did add a unique punch – after all, it’s not everyday that you listen to Latino songs while driving along the KKH (I was expecting at least more Uzbek and Xinjiang pop!).

Besides the Latino pop fetish, Ibrahim proved himself to be an awesome driver and guide along the KKH. Short and slight, Ibrahim was a Uighur man in his early thirties. He had a dark complexion, dark features, a pair of warm eyes, and a thick mustache. When we met Ibrahim, he had already been driving tourists and locals along the KKH for 8 years. Not only did Ibrahim know the area well and provided some very useful advices, he was also very caring, very happy, and very funny.

Once, when we were eating at a great local restaurant in Tashkurgan, Dom, Yenny and I decided to order a Coca Cola. Tashkurgan is the sleepy, poplar tree lined capital of Xinjiang’s Tajik Autonomous Region. The area is inhabited mostly by Tajiks, a group of people of Persian descent who looked like they came straight from some Eastern European country. Tashkurgan also was the last major town in China before the KKH dipped into northern Pakistan, 120 kilometers down the road. Anyway, the restaurant did not have anything in the way of sodas. After hearing this, Ibrahim immediately left the restaurant and returned a few minutes later with a two liter bottle of coke.

In short, Ibrahim was the perfect companion to have along the KKH. And when driving along the KKH, a good driver is essential. Completed in 1978 as a joint project between China and Pakistan, the KKH is the highest paved highway in the world and links northern Pakistan with the fabled Silk Road. The highway took 20 years to complete and claimed the lives of hundreds of Chinese and Pakistani workers. Besides the heavy toll the highway took, I saw it as a great achievement of human engineering.

On the Chinese side, the KKH weaves for 1,200 kilometers through jagged mountain facades, desolate desert plateaus, mountains made of pure sand (Kumtagh), and ancient glacial mountains. Landslides are still very common, especially if you go in the wrong season (the highway is completely impassible during the winter time). Prior to my departure, I had been warned by a friend who had previously traveled along the KKH that, “No matter what, do not drive on the KKH at night – you may DIE!!!” Warning noted, but our sense of adventure did not deter us from traveling along what’s been regarded by many as one of the most beautiful areas in China.

In the end, the only time that we came vaguely close to danger was when we decided to trek to a glacier near Karakul Lake. Resting under the gaze of the huge Muztagh-Ata, Karakul Lake is a pool of turquoise blue water (Karakul means “black water”). Cement yurts dot the shores of the lake and one can occasionally see a Kirgiz grazing his herd of sheep along the nearby pastures. At about 3,600 meters above sea level, Karakul Lake is also the highest lake in the region.

That day, our full day at Karakul Lake, we decided to venture off the beaten path. Instead of circumventing around the lake, which was what most travelers do, the three of us decided to take a 10 hour horse/camel/manual trek to a glacier located in a neighboring mountain. Together with Cho and Kobe, a great Belgian couple who also happened to be staying with the same extended Kirgiz family as us, our mini caravan set off, equipped with two camels, 4 horses, 5 Kirgiz animal handlers, and 1 Kirgiz trek guide. The journey took us through an immense valley that Kobe termed as one of the world’s last “real Shangri-La”, rushing rivers with freshly melted glacial water, barren desert-scapes, and a tiny Kirgiz village. Our destination, the jagged snow mountains where the glacier rested, eternally loomed before us.

When we closed in on the glacier, we had to leave the animals and continue by feet (the trail was too narrow and unstable for them). For the next 1.5 hours, we scurried up and down, on and around huge sharp rocks and still frozen glacial lakes. There was no path and a wrong step would really have sent one of us tumbling down into the abyss (the same friend who warned me about not traveling on the KKH at night also ominously said to me: “Whatever you do, don’t try to go to the glaciers – people have DIED doing that!!!” I think he meant people who have attempted the trek without a guide – I can easily picture this tragic end to such a foolish mistake). Not only were we walking up a side of a mountain made up of huge chunks of rock, the ground was also very soft. The melting glacier had softened the ground under our feet and where there were no rocks, there was sand. By the time we made it back down to the animals, my shoes were filled with sand. The difficulties of the trek aside, the hike proved to be extremely rewarding and we did, in the end, got up and personal with a massive piece of ancient glacier.

Now that I have returned to the fast paced city of Beijing, I miss the KKH very much. First of all, I miss the fresh air (I almost forgot what fresh air smelled like!) and the crisp sound of silence. Like the mountains in Tibet, when we took our breaks by the side of the road, we were often the only vehicle for miles around. Then, when there was a rare moment when all of us stopped talking to take in the beauty of our surrounding, there was nothing but pure, refreshing silence. There wasn’t the sound of anything – no birds, no wind…nothing but ourselves and the massive mountains around us.

I also miss Ibrahim, our happy little Uighur driver who had an unhealthy obsession with Latino pop music.

Finally, one of the things that I miss the most about the KKH: The first night that we were staying at Karakul Lake, Yenny and I needed to make a bathroom run before going to sleep. Considering where we were, this of course, meant that the bathroom equaled the great outdoors. In early May, Karakul Lake is still freezing after sundown with chilly blasts of wind constantly howling. Yenny and I bundled ourselves up in our multiple layers of clothes and regretfully left the comfort of our yurt’s small, cozy stove. We dashed outside, finished our business, and as we were rushing back to the warmth of the yurt, Yenny said, “Look up!” Hanging in the sky above were thousands of glittering stars! A clear night plus high altitude plus low light pollution equaled one of the clearest skies I had ever seen. As we stopped and admired the tiny fireballs that were suspended in the dark night sky, I remember thinking about the theory of parallel universes. The theory goes something like this: somewhere out there, there was a planet exactly like ours with beings that looked exactly like us. At that very moment, two of those extraterrestrial beings were also at the foot of an ancient glacial mountain, gazing up at an incredibly clear night’s sky.

That must be what magic really is, I thought with a shiver, and scurried back to the warm yurt that was waiting for me.

*****

Other Trip Notes

- We ended up with the Kirgiz family because we didn't want to pay the official park entrace fee of 50 RMB. The family ran their own unofficial yurts, which they rent and share with travelers. Staying with them per night, including food, was 50 RMB.

- Partied with a group of young Kirgiz teenagers. The evening turned from just sharing songs and music to a dancing and singing to Uzbek pop songs on a 12 inch black and white TV. The party finally evolved into a full blown staring contest. "If you fish the whale, the whale will die" was born, curtesy of Kobe, when I was having a stare-down with one of the Kirgiz youth.

- While treking to the glacier and back, paused for a few times where we had heated discussions about China and Chinese policies. Kobe eventually said to me, "I'm so glad we met you guys - you're interesting!!"

- While treking to the glacier, Dom's horse collapsed from his weight (and the long uphill journey).

- From my notes: "The glacier looked like verticle ice daggers, rising from the earth. The air was colder [than the already chilly air by the lake] the ground was still very soft. There was even a shallow ice cave. The landscape looked like something out of a sci-fi nove - bazar!

- When we spent the night in Tashkurgan, the five of us (plus Cho and Kobe) began to play a game of Never Have I Ever. This lasted for about an hour, during which Dom was about to pass out on us. The game then abruptly ended and Kobe and I started to talk about Chinese policies and Chinese politics (and the banking policy). All of a sudden, Dom got his second wind and all of us chatted until 6am Beijing time...