TRAVEL: ISHKOMAN DAYS
A geographical confusion landed me in the Ishkoman Valley but having reached there, I decided to stay put. Like many Karachiites, I was filled with vague notions to travel up North as the summer set in with its unrelenting threats of the heat waves. I gleaned names from the map, tour guides and their colourful videos on social media. I booked the tickets to Islamabad and decided that this time I would visit Astore and Shandur instead of remaining confined to Gilgit and Hunza, where I could feign some degree of familiarity. Both the places were to surprise me later, but on different accounts.
The car moved out of the rather hastily urbanised Gilgit and journeyed on a winding road, adjacent to the meandering river. On both sides were mountains but they would begin to recede as we moved closer. Small villages and settlements dotted the scene. The wooden planks and rope strung across the swift river down below reminded me that we had entered the Punial valley, where I had been privileged to work on a project many decades ago. Names on the roadside boards announcing Sher Qilla and Singal seemed static while the car moved fast. This time round, Gahkuch seemed different with many more buildings, hotels, signboards announcing trekking opportunities and invitations to fairy country.
Moving out of the valley, there were signboards announcing more hotels and tourist attractions beyond, but the roads looked less promising. Its beauty was rugged with spots of green among the rocks. Not much of a promise for a tourist spot, I thought to myself as the road took a curve and brought us to Birgal. Fruit trees swinging in the wind, the riverbed running parallel to the road and people ready to smile at strangers were enough of a reason to make me get down from the car and stretch my legs and it was then that I literally walked into this amazing spot because of which I didn’t want to leave this place.
Being a rare guest in a valley hitherto unspoilt by the ravages of tourism can be a magical and an unforgettable experience
The majestic Himalayan ranges of the Hindu Kush and Karakoram meet each other somewhere across the horizon. This meeting of mountains justifies the name of Baam-i-Duniya, literally the Roof of the World. A signboard marks an arrow but as I walk towards it, I come to the lawns of a hotel filled with roses. This marks the beginning of Chatorkhand, the main town of the valley with its bazaar. Just before this, another gate announces the Royal Guest House, the house of a raja with rooms for rent inside a well-maintained garden, with an inviting charpoy and tents. Glistening cherries were placed before me and a cup of salted tea. As my hand moved towards my wallet, I was emphatically told that one did not pay for fruits from the garden. A pair of bulbuls and a hoopoe alighted from the trees and a bench was laid out under the grapevine.