Horses in Islamabad - Khyber and Peshawar & an idea in the Kalash valleys

16 june - 03 july

Assalam Aleykum + Ishpata

I am getting used to the life with a fan: fasten everything, don’t leave papers on a table – things you don’t have to think about at home in Austria. Sometimes I still forget and everything is whirling through the room – then I have to laugh at myself – some when I will learn it. Inchallah.
The temperature is above to reach 50 degrees, Pierre and me plan to go to Chitral, to the Kalash Valleys, where I have already spend some great days.
I leave a day early for Islamabad to meet my friends Asem (reporter) and Adil (my contact to the Iranian ambassador, a horse lover, and almost a daddy here for me) there. It’s the first time for me to take the Daewoo Bus service – a really nice experience. The only bus company with a huge network of busses, the only one really working in time with reservation service, board service… A bit more expensive than the chaotic colleagues, that stop at every corner at take an unbelievable time to reach the final goal. I get on board at 7 am, almost freezing in the ac cabin. We take of – if there weren’t all the holes in the road I would believe I fly with an aeroplane. The stewardess greets via microphone, offers newspapers, refreshing drinks and snacks (cheese sandwich, like DrukAir Bhutan).
With Adil I experience how fast you can get permits, stamps and other bureaucratic things within seconds. It’s only a matter of knowing the right people. Sometimes I feel really bad entering an office, walking past 50 waiting people, sweating in the heat entering the head office, meeting the boss, getting cold drinks in ac rooms, even food, Adil exchanges the latest news about business and family, gets his papers stamped and leaves with a smile. What he manages in 3 hrs, some other can’t even fulfil in 3 months. Sad but true. Pakistan.
In the evening we meet Asem, the reporter and my personal adviser in questions of Holy Quran – and go for the Tent Pegging Festival, the reason why I came to Islamabad. Pakistani horse sports are not comparable with our Middle European ones, nor are the horses them selves. They can’t stand still, always moving, stamping, impatiently waiting for the “go” with fire in their eyes and blood.

They only want to run, speed over the ground, their powerful, bright shining hind legs almost don’t touch the earth. You just look in their eyes and know they are special. Lavishly decorated they are moving in a circle at the other end. One after the other speeds up and gallops down the soil path. In the middle there is a small wooden piece which the riders have to pick with their huge stick. Some horses are almost uncontrollable, they run towards the crowd, everyone is jumping away, giving way to the horse and hoping the rider can gain control before its too late. Pakistan.
But that’s not how it should be. He is supposed to pick this wooden piece while galloping on high speed, leaning down to the side with the horse hopefully continuing straight. If he manages to pick it, he gains points for his team. Sometimes there are 4 horses at one time, all trying to get the piece – knock out system.
It’s great to watch them. Adil wants to teach me how to stay on such a horse without looking too stupid and keeping myself in the saddle without too many problems. Lets see how patient he is – I would love to do it, I have always loved horses and ridden them in Austria, but see the pics – if you know Austria, you know it’s different. I wish I could start right tomorrow.
In the evening we drive up the Margalla Hills North of Islamabad where some bright mind put a restaurant to enjoy the great view while eating a delicious dinner. Islamabad seems asleep, not too much traffic, few high buildings – very strange for Pakistani cities. Some say, the best thing about Islamabad is, that it’s only 15 km away from Pakistan. They mean Rawalpindi, with its typical busy Bazaar, small windy streets where one can get lost. You won’t find this in Islamabad. The British wanted a new capital in 1950s near their summer stations in the close by mountains but without any chaos – they planned a quite well structured, but non charming city there. It must be difficult if you get your driving license there and afterwards you have to drive in another city. Adil hates Lahore, he learned driving in Islamabad. And I am really surprised; people even stop for red traffic lights. I never saw this in Lahore, I always had to push my way through when I was driving there. As soon as you are used to it it’s funny. There are much more possibilities to reach a certain point than visible on first sight… 
So we sat up there in the hills, enjoying the cool air – for the first time since I got off the car it was a bit windy and fresh outside – because of the altitude, but anyway, I don’t mind for what reason, I just enjoyed.
Adil knows the owner of the restaurant who is currently in prison for “corruption” – a popular reason for jailing politicians with “wrong visions”. Pakistan.
As the waiter learn, that Adil knows their boss, they come and give us a most relaxing head massage, it’s a great feeling, to sit there, watching the starry sky above, the flickering city lights below - like god in heaven. Pakistan.

The next day takes me with the typical delaying to Peshawar, not without visiting a horse breeder, where Adil wants to buy some horses. A nice old man in his 70ies who owns not only horses and more money than ever needed, but also the land around his estate, an enormous area. Greeting without shake hands – a misunderstanding as I learn later. He tells me about his time in England, horse races, Ascot and the old school of gentlemen. Never present your hand to a woman, wait till she offers hers. I didn’t, because in Muslim culture you are not supposed to shake hands as a woman, he didn’t, because he thought in European culture a woman is first.
His house, garden, stables and horses are wonderful, just next to some shanty huts of poor villagers – the gap is enormous. Pakistan.
In Peshawar I meet Pierre, we roam the Bazaar, I discover some nice routes through Qissa Khawani Bazaar to guide my coming groups, find my favourite tea stall and many new friends. After several cups of tea I head back to our hotel. Next morning we go to Khyber Pass, the legendary passage from Afghanistan, then still India, where Alexander the Great first set food on this land. An armed guard accompanies us – compulsory in the Tribal Areas, where more or less lawlessness reigns. The British set up this puffer zone and left almost autonomy to the tribes people – there was no other way, the would never accept a “ruler”. New born Pakistan kept this policy after independence in 1947 for the same reasons. The main roads are under army control, but as soon as you turn off this roads, it’s the tribe’s people who rule. For tourists not allowed. The houses look like walled fortresses with watch towers, it gives an idea of hostility, but when you look in the faces of the people, it’s hospitality what they express. They host every guest, even “terrorists” to the annoyance of government. On top of the pass we turn and had back, not without a short view of Afghanistan down in the plains. The Pass itself is not really spectacular, but the idea of history, the people who passed these mountains years ago – adventures, conquerors, ambassadors, spies and traders, young skilled agents at times of the “Great Game”, when Russia and England explored and fought with local rulers in Central Asia.
The guard is nervous, the day before some people where killed up here, because government tried one more time to force the tribes people to pay taxes – obviously they didn’t want to, so the riots escalated. On first sight all look friendly, smiling, but under their Shalwar Kameez one can notice the Kalashnikovs. Everyone has one. Pakistan.

A short visit in the museum, then we catch a bus to Chitral. A minivan shall bring us over Lawari Pass, which had exhausted our Starex a moth ago. 14 hrs takes the trip, no problems on the way. The snow is almost gone, the road is almost plain again. For Austrian or middle European thoughts still terrible, but compared to the last time easygoing.
In Chitral Town we don’t stay long, find some new friends. They drive us to Birir, my favourite Kalash Valley where I spent most time at my last visit. Right at the entrance to the Valley I meet Sher Alam, my best Kalash friend. A warm hearted, wise and curious teacher, whom I met last time.
Its hard to persuade them not to force us in the Jeep to Guru Village, but allow us to walk. After 14hrs in the Van from Peshawar we are really keen on walking.
In Guru our first station is the Irfan Guesthouse, where we get a warm Welcome from Rabichan and Irfan – the owners. I feel like coming home, its marvellous to be back again. Masran, their 6 years old daughter with her charming but self confident, vivid attitude had already conquered my heart 2 months ago. One can already see how beautiful she will be one time.
She even asked me, if I want to stay with her at night – its hard to deny, but I know that I wont be alone with her in her bed. The thought of an army of little, black bloodsuckers make me say no.
The air is clear, the water a bit greyish because of melting snow, but therefore refreshingly cool for taking a bath. I love sitting in the cool wild water, water streaming over my shoulders – or to have a shower under a waterfall – like in heaven – and without dupata (scarf).
Like last time, Pierre and me want to visit all 3 valleys, but we get stuck again in Birir. The feeling of satisfaction is in the air. Satisfaction with what ever one has, as the Kalash are satisfied with their culture, they don’t need the easy reachable “civilisation”. Here I really feel this inner peace. Usually if I am at a new place, I want to see as much as possible around, but here I just want to stay and enjoy, feel home.
Sher Alam takes me along to his school, where I teach some English. I am not really good, but for basics it is enough. I start just for fun, but Inchallah it will intensify. Next day we visit another school at the end of the valley – a school of that I will write an extra mail – a special one.

One room – 4 grades, no light, holes in walls and roof, one teacher. I decide to come back to help building a new school there.
The walk back takes 5 hrs – with 27 teas, 3 lunches and several glasses of Kalash Wine on the way. Pakistan.
The days are great, I already explained about culture and live of Kalash people last time, so I wont bore you a second time, but if you happen to come to Pakistan – you definitely have to see the Kalash Valleys! But take a good flea repellent along  my body is covered with little red spots all over, I look as I have this children’s disease – sorry, I forgot the name. There is almost no chance to get rid of these animals with local products – get used to it, they suggest.

On the 3rd day we meet Martin, an Austrian guy from Neuhofen – you wont know the place, but its coincidentally only 30min drive from my own home village. What a small world.
It’s a nice feeling, to speak the own, upper Austrian dialect again after such a long time, words which I haven’t heard since my departure but remind me of home – he keeps me laughing the whole day. I didn’t know that I miss this language so much. I was talking German, but not my special dialect.
After some days we walk to the next valley, to Bumburet. First I didn’t want to walk, because I left my good shoes in the car which is now in Austria. “Its allright, there is another trail, very smooth, good path, only 4 hrs! No problem with these shoes.!” And I believed it. Why? I don’t know, I wanted to believe it. I should have learned, that time, distance and condition are relative in Pakistan, and stretchable. It’s a quite bad trail, small stones, landslides. Sometimes I slide down myself, once I only stop at the next bush, some stones and branches leaving their marks on my legs. After 8 hrs we drink tea at Sher Alams house. Exhausted, with hurting toes and legs, but lucky. Pakistan.
On the next evening there is a special event in the last village of the valley: Chandbhai, the long bearded new age Mullah from Lahore – my special friend – found a girl in this village and their wedding will be this very evening.
Andy and Nicole, the Canadian girl, are also there. The ceremony itself is very unspectacular. Price negotiations, a Mullah reads some Suras, agreement of groom and – no, not bride, but her father. The bride herself is not present, she is upstairs in the kitchen. Its not the business of women to agree, although she was lucky enough to be asked a week before. Tomorrow her new life will start, a life with a husband, in Lahore. She is 21 – her father said. She talks only Nuristani, no English, no Urdu. She is the woman who shall give birth to a Minichandbhai. Chandbhai himself is lucky as never before, sometimes even tears are in his smiling eyes. After more than 50 years alone, Allah gifted him with a wife. He is looking forward to teach her Urdu and English, and make her familiar with city life. “I am looking forward to the day, when she will be wandering in the bazaar, bargaining, doing daily business with self confidence - and the baby!” Chandbhai is dreaming.
We are invited to stay overnight at Faham Aziz, the former student of Martin who treats me like a daughter. Its nice to experience this, to be respected myself, not only because I coincidentally came with Martin (my former friend). I really missed this before. It is like being with old friends, I am looking forward to come back soon.
In the early morning we take a Jeep to Chitral to catch our plane to Peshawar, work is waiting in Lahore. 35min flight instead of 14hrs exhausting Jeep ride. The bus from Peshawar to Lahore takes a bit longer, a flat tyre, prayer stops and many more for god knows what reasons.
Back in Lahore the air is heavy, its hard to breath. One day ago they faced 52 degrees, followed by heavy rainfalls which flooded the whole city including the house in Gulberg.
I change the fleas for some mosquitoes, the contaminated cloths I soak in water, Inchallah it will help.
I am looking forward to leave for the cool Northern Areas again.
Today I did, with my first group from Germany.
We will go via Peshawar to Swat and up the Karakoram Hgwy to the Chinese Border.

All the best, enjoy life, it’s worth it
Allah hafez

there are pics on yahoo - they are too much for this blog... if you are asked for a password: acchigom

Islamabad Peshawar Kalash pics