farrokhs wedding
dec 04 2009
karachi

it was april. sunny, blue sky, spring at its best at mesa verde...i took her call on my cell phone. she said she had news for me. "walking in the virginia woods one afternoon, I asked for a sign from Him, something, anything, to reassure me that life will be lived with dignity and peacefully into old age. my eyes were shut, it had been a cloudy day, but when i looked up and saw a silver lining behind rain clouds i knew all of life would fall right into place. where it belongs - in the cradle of love..i met Robert soon after, fell in love and weve decided to marry." no she didnt say any of this in this dry fashion, but thats how i can relate it as simply as i can. she went on to describe him, many little details about his personality, that made for a perfect partner in life. one that is so worth waiting for and going through so many hurdles to get to....she was so very happy, so much at peace. in a very different way so was i ....both of us feeling how blessed we are.

i came to karachi a little after my landscaping/teaching assignment ended in Shigar. Moniyas mehfil was a few days later. it was also the night that nargis arrived from bangkok, with an ulcerated eye. salmaan and robert met us at the AKU hospital, straight from the airport. deposited nargis at home, tucked in bed to rest and got to the ganay ki mehfil at its tail end.

so why deal with khatmaals and pissus..bed bugs in every form. why squat to cook, to wash clothes, dishes, to bathe. why boil water for the thrice a week bath, and one to boil the bug ridden clothes and sheets every few days. why lay the mattress and all else out in the sun while i bike to school so i can teach landscape design to a bunch of girls who dont have a clue what that means. east west north south what does that matter??? teach by planting
a teaching garden???
take interviews of school children
and teachers
and principals
what for??
poke around every garden in Shigar
poke around some more
we're understanding balance and perspective and rhythms and line and ....here in the wilderness, in this village, from this spot, looking at the mountain here in this field, from this garden.?

none of it makes sense to them ...its only barely making sense to me...who knew teaching meant so many things all at once.....................

Aug 29

Walking past the local lumber yard and small downtown area, Ashiq and Mushtaq guided me to the town's bicycle shop. together wed assembled my mountain bike ...id had it shipped from LA, so 'madam' didn't have to walk to work. too much effort for a 52 year old trekker after all. the local cycle wala pumped back the deflated tires. The villagers watched on, surprised that this madam was planning on biking this very fancy contraption, meant only for hard core men from foreign lands or for visitors at the shigar fort, but 'madam' garden designer??? hmmm????

3 pm......... later we visited Wazir Fida Ali,

the head of the Shigar town management committee. Another pleasant intelligent man. We discussed modalities, got some straight forward information, regarding the ground rules of what is possible and what is not. i told him what i was here to do, and how i would go about it. There were no surprises except he said, that a portion of the donated garden area was sort of off bounds for a garden.

The donor wanted the actual school building to be built on that portion, a play ground or simply garden was not what he had donated land for...what education do you get from playing out doors, and what sadaqa jariyah does God bestow on creating school yards??? I didn't go into the philosophy of such tunnel vision ideas with the chief, but reassured him id keep that in mind as i designed.. so that our trees don't get pulled out years from now, for a structure to be built, or that the children don't waste time playing basket ball or badminton right where they should really be cramming science and math and English and Urdu lessons....no , not that. ill surely keep Gods continuous blessings coming through. Some day said donor and i will discuss 'sadaqa jariyah at length..that would have to wait till all the trees and all the shrubs and all the grass and every inch of play yard is safely in place.

Dec 2009
many months since the brief visit to China last Dec..my long road still winds its way through the mountains of Pakistan..

except i got to do something different this year - no hikes, no travel adventure.



Islamabad Aug 26 2009
our flight to Skardu got cancelled ofcourse - no surprise at all, only this time i wasn't on trek schedule so i could wait it out to catch that elusive jumbo. we left on a clear crisp morning Aug 27. in line for the flight, a highly distraught lady simply wouldn't alight. scared to death of flying. no cajoling, no convincing, no promises of arriving safely, we were with her, in it together, sit in first class....nothing. i tried my two bits, shed quiet down for half a second and then loose it. yelling at her by now beyond embarrassed brother to get her off or shed murder him herself. the high brow first class passengers - which is where all this drama was unfolding by this time, wanted none of it. the pilot was loosing patience and time..so off they went brother and sister, to sit on the 22 hour bus journey on the KKH. imagine 'choosing' to do so.

my flight was spectacular, most of it in the cockpit, with views of every mountain top and K2 from here to the heavens. sticking out like a pyramid of such grandeur that all else paled in comparison. what a ride ...what a great way to begin my work. with clarity as crisp as the clear mountain scape in front of me, yet with equal layer upon layer of complex snow covered ridges that would reflect the difficulty of getting so much accomplished in such a short time, in a community i had not known before. all seemed possible that august morning.

at the sleepy little Skardu airport, i was received by AKCSP staff, Ashiq and his driver, who had a card with my name, to receive me. both men recognize me before i do. polite pleasant men. Ashiq is based in Khaplu where they are working on the palace.
the drive to Shigar takes me back to the same wonder and excitement of seeing these mountain scapes every time ive been up north.
Once in town and right after showing me the two house options, introducing 5 of the 6 interns, we headed to the Abruzzi school sight. impressive building with a small 1 acre piece of land for the garden. his chief architect, Mubashir, met us there. Personable, confident, knowledgeable young man. theres plenty of building work still going on, so it wont be till next spring when the school will actually be functional. everyone I've met so far is excited that I'm here and happy that ill be putting together a professional planned garden. it will be the first they tell me, besides the Shigar fort gardens. so many hopes are pinned on me. i too was feeling the same excitment of finally being here, and meeting the people ill be working with.

deciding where i would stay for the next two months...i picked the more picturesque of the two options.. my home of choice was a small two room idyllic guest house with an attached bathroom with a geyser, and small kitchen. surrounded by a wild little fruit and vegetable garden. the trees are laden with apples, pears, peaches, almonds, plums and some apricot. the cherries are done. so are the apricots actually. A low wooden gate to enter the grounds, low stone walls in traditional mountain style wrapped around the property. it belongs to the family of one of my students. i was given new sheets, new pillows, for the only piece of furniture in the cottage, one wooden bed with a mattress and blanket. foolishly i laid them over a very old mattress infested with every imaginable bug ...invisible to this foreign eye. i discovered within a day of living the cute green cottage life, how unequipped i was for creepy crawly creatures that like sucking on fresh city bred blood all night, all day. but then theres running water in the bathroom, filtered, so it can be drunk. theres electricity from 6pm to 2pm. every four days theres load shedding so no bijlee that day. the weather is balmy 23C by day, may be 15C by night. what more could i ask for.

My hosts are kind and gentle people. the father is a school teacher. the wife illiterate. Sajidah the daughter is petite and full of spunk. very sharp and clear features. lovely face. is in 2nd year of college. his two sons are in cadet schools down country and the 10 year old lives with him. he says he has a very small family at home these days, only four people . i was tempted to say mine is even smaller, but figured hell find out sooner or later himself. the husband and wife showed me around the tiny place and then sat in my (bed)room for a while, with no signs of leaving, the typical way of villagers, who think its rude to say hello and scram. they've all asked me if ill be ok sleeping alone, and I've reassured them that ill be fine.

Aug 27
The lady of the house Hamida is plucking fresh cilantro for the pakoras and fresh lettuce for salad, as i sit writing. its the lovely evening light, only the snow covered tips of the mountains have sunlight left, the crock crows, the water channel runs behind me, the sound a constant. I've opened up my few belongings and fed my new telenor sim card into my phone. jazz doesn't work here. Fida Husain my landlord and host, has brought me over to his house for iftar. they're making pakoras, so i brought my garlic chili sauce bottle to share. some shrivelled up dates. home made cake and french toast. quite a feast for a simple home. for dinner they've cooked potato curry to be eaten with wheat roasted noodles. "fur fur" which they consider as 'shahi khana' served to guests on special occasions like ramazan. im sitting on his roof top socializing with the neighbours on the other roof tops. such sweet and simple living. everyones curious, one after another, the ladies peep from windows or the little galli below to smile and ask who i am etc. tomorrow ill bring my camera and recorder. so ill have pictures of these encounters. the neighbours son is Sajid, his sister Abida and the youngest Aquib. so many names to remember.

its 10.15 pm when i crawl into my down comforter, which i would soon regret laying over this ticking bed. Fida Husain will be serving sehri at 4.30am. did i mention that their own home is a two minute walk from my cottage....ive never had to walk to my sehri in pitch darkness from one house to another...nor have i stayed awake half the night scratching my body thinking these shigar mosquitoes are bloody pests.
,
my students greeted me in the orchard next morning, all fresh and expectant and excited to be meeting 'madam' who was here to teach them something about gardens. who knows what exactly, but it sounded exciting and fun. we were all equally excited i think, me about my new and unimaginably beautiful surroundings, teaching something i loved doing best, they about the fact that i was a woman come from so far just to teach them something basic like gardening. must be a mad woman. or at least somewhat nuts.
we didnt waste too much time......that day or any day thereafter...it was, lets get this going, lets get us this garden imagined, planned, drawn, built and blooming.

Dec 31 2008
Gulmit

I had met Yasmin and Merry on the packed bus ride from Gilgit to Sost. They sat on the seat behind me with Razia, a young Chinese girl on her way back home.
Both friendly 22 year old boarders at the girls college in Gilgit, they were going back home to Gulmit for winter break.
On the way, we stopped for lunch at Aliabad..they know all the ropes. Dumpy old 'restaurant' with a back room for the ladies. Razia (the Chinese woman) and i followed along. Was cold as hell and dingy to boot - so decided to get back to the bus and wait for every one in my comfy seat.. instead ended up talking to the young boys out front, all college kids going back home to one village or another. Pleasantly surprising was Merry and Yasmin's interactions with them. Laughing, talking, like any urban youngsters, totally comfortable and at ease. The girls neither shy nor awkward, the boys neither lewd nor cheezy. They all knew each other and mingled with ease.
Yasmin had invited me to stay with them that night, so i dont freeze in Sost. I scribbled her name and her fathers name down, but declined- thought if i stayed id get tempted to simply hang around in Gulmit and surely miss the next bus out to China as well. But i promised to visit another year. So now, on the way back, i thought, I have a standing invitation and whats the rush anyway!
Got off the bus right where wed dropped the girls off 5 days back..asked around and someone led me to her brother. He runs a general store right on the main road. Didnt bat an eyelid when i announced im a friend of Yasmins, and have come to stay the night! sure! big hand shake and broad handsome smile. Give me a minute, let me wrap things up in the store. its really busy being that its new years eve. Do you want everything from your duffle - no - then take what you need - leave the duffel here. Lets go surprise Yasmin, her friend has arrived after all.

1.30pm - sitting around the bukhari at Yasmins home with all her family gathered. Another older brother isn't feeling too well - buried under a heavy quilt, tires to ignore all the excitement and talk around him. Except for his mother, no one pays too much attention to him. He's got a splitting headache. I offer him some tylenol, which he gladly takes. I find out much later, hes suffering from a nasty hunza water hangover!
Yasmins telling me about what they do for new years eve - March 31 is a bigger day than Jan 01 for them. That's their new year. They celebrate 'Nourooz'. On both occasions they cook chicken biryani, maleeda (bread pieces in lassi) Garaal a type of bread, Baat made in milk (milk, wheat flour, sugar and butter) all day they visit each other, wear new clothes, put mehendi, get eidi - then at 5pm go to the Jamaat Khana for programs and duas, and shows the children put up. Two hours later they're back home eating together. Nourooz is considered a religious festival and therefore of much greater significance than Jan 01. Qurban Ali, Yasmins dad, joins us - they're all friendly and welcoming, not at all perturbed by my dropping in unannounced. An older sister comes by, as does another, who is furiously using the hand operated sewing machine..churning out shalwar kamizes at such speed i wondered how she kept a straight line going. Makes her money this way, and new years eve is big money making day! While all the rest of us chatted and socialized she kept at the machine, well into the evening.

Dads curious and asks me what im writing.

Merry is here as well, with her younger sister Nazia. Quiet and little dour faced, compared to her bubbly outgoing sister. Im to visit their home next. For now, im waiting for the family to finish lunch and wash the dishes, so we can head out shopping - to buy some music and seabuckthorn jam. Yes shopping is possible on Dec 31 even on the rooftops of the world.

Im told Wazir Aman, of Ghulkin, is the authority on Seabuckthorn. I had eaten the jam at Gilgit Serena a couple of years back and loved the sour, a little bitter taste. Have been craving for it since.

Wazir makes and sells the jam and juice. Been at it for 6 years. Lives in a small cabin right off the KKh in the next village - Ghulkin. Ofcourse i want to go visit. The girls will take me once the cleaning up etc is done..so i wait for an hour or so, then decide ill go myself, why drag them from their chores on new years eve, when they have stuff to do - get organized for the evening.. whatever that might be. I walk out in the late afternoon. Find my music store and buy a load of Wakhi and Gojali music. Then follow my nose to Wazir Amans place, down the road towards Ghulkin. I find the cabin, scruffy looking - stuffed with all sorts of things, a few chairs and a table..men sitting around chatting. Shelves behind them with rows of empty glass jam bottles and orange looking juice in one liter plastic bottles - small gas stove on another counter.. tins of sugar and oil and who knows what else under the counter. the whole place messy as hell..a -D L.A. county rating!!! but then this aint L.A. county!
He introduces himself. Im surprised to find Wazir Aman to be a strapping young 33 year old handsome fellow..but then whos not handsome or beautiful in these parts???? duh!

Ghulam Nabi Shigri sells him the berries he tells me. Abundantly found in Baltistan and Shimshal, the juice of this berry is great for lowering sugar and cholesterol. He gives me some crushed dry berries to taste - a little bitter, nothing great, orange in color.

Wazir is a sculptor, graduated in 1995 from Karachi's North city school of Arts in KDA - ran out of money so came back to work as a cook at PC Burbhan for 1 1/4 years - then spent 8 years in tourism as cook and guide. Hes been to ghondoghoro la, chitral, rakaposhi, batura, passu glaciers etc. Now its 3 years since he started his jam and juice business. He tells me crows eat the berry and live a long life - that research lead to it being used for humans. He not only has a fascination with the healing qualities of seabuckthorn but a wealth of knowledge about it. Selling jams and juices hes been paying off a 4 lakh loan. Has a lakh and a half left. A son was born to him yesterday, even so hes promised to make me three fresh bottles of jam and one litre of juice, and deliver it to Gulmit before the nights out. I promise to hook him up with fellows at Hashoo Foundation who encourage this kind of unique home grown industry.

One of the men chatting in Wazir Amans cabin/kitchen with me is Mehraban Karim, brother of Nigehban Shah who died on K2 in Aug. We met this brother at our campsite in Arbabpurin when we were coming back from Shimshal Pass. He recognized me - all the rest of these guys also recognized me - they had seen all of us, Tahir, Nafeesah, Mohi and myself in Passu when we got here on Dec 12- they remember the shinny tokras we were carrying for the wedding. What a small world.

I walked back at sunset from Ghulkin, the crescent moon shining in the dusk sky, the pristine white expanse of the semi frozen Hunza river running along the KKH. I walked slowly, pulling my phone/song book and glasses out, in the dusk of Dec 31, singing 'tum ayey ho na shabe intezaar guzri' as loud as i wanted, no one around, not a soul. By the time i got to Gulmit it was dark. I stopped to buy 5 plates of the famous Gulmit biryani - from the Gulmit Biryani House - a must stop lunch break on all our previous trips up here - pulled a few gifts for the girls, out of my duffle (from Arman Alis shop, which was still buzzing with customers buying sugar and butter and sevian for the evenings fare) and walked back to Yasmins home for dinner. She and Merry by now extremely worried for me - id dissapeared for 3 hours. There were a few other visitors, we all had dinner together and then on to Merrys for a taste of Baat which shed cooked herself. From there, along with Merry's two sisters, we joined a bunch of young boy scouts in another home nearby. All drinking tea, singing and dancing Wakhi song and dance, having a grand new years eve stag party of their own. 8 to 18 year old boys all making merry. We had broken tradition and gate crashed.. though i dont think any of them minded the 20 to 50 something female company. It was pitch dark outside, freezing cold and crystal clear sky.. a million stars.. the moon just having finished its eclipse. Inside warm and friendly, the little boys as curious as the older ones.. who are you? how do you speak such good urdu? what are you doing here? learning chinese? going to a wedding? in SHIMSHAL?all the way from L.A. USA? yes yes yes..and who are you? what are your names? what grades? why only boys? why dont the girls join you? where are the parents? tell me -----we interview each other, all dance, me and the boys, slowly Merry, Yasmin and the sisters join. The two curious mothers who'd followed us and stayed out, peer from the window for the longest time. They've frozen themselves solid, eventually they decide to join the fun...forget tradition..its bloody cold, what stag party....theyre bachaas.

Last Dec i would'nt have dreamed of celebrating new years eve with complete strangers in Gulmit! but here i am, after some good old fashioned song and dance, now sitting with a family of Gojalis, as they chat amongst themselves and with me, Geo tv on in the background, patiently waiting for the momentous new year. They brought a plate of sevian, we are all sharing for the occasion and another large plate of apples from their orchard, washed in hot water so they thaw a little.

Its almost midnight and Im so sleepy, all i want to do is crawl into bed - there will be communal sleeping tonight in one large family room around the wood burning bukhari. Ma and Pa have slipped under their heavy lahafs and called it a night - sometimes peering form under to see if its midnight yet. So have the 4 youngest children. The brother with the hangover is finally up and chatting..heads cleared.
Midnight at last - Arman says a short dua - blesses all in the room, and the new year. we smile and wish each other. i finally crawl into the welcome warm bed. no fire crackers and kissing everyone in the room, no confetti and other paraphanelia to make a total mess of the place. no loud noises, forced or induced cheer...just simple affection and good wishes for each other.
A quiet acceptance of one end and another beginning; a prayer to the almighty.

i wonder what everyone is doing? Nargis, i know shes in SFO with her school friends probably having a good time, Syed Mohd..no idea...in Karachi or Edmonton or Dubai or Doha even Islamabad..what is everyone doing at this moment....i drift into a tired sleep under three lahafs and my down coat on top!

Deeh Pakistan - 5pm dec 30

early evening we get to the first Pakistani check post and everyone rushes out, some making a bee line for the woods, trudging through snow, to take a leak, some yelling at the policeman to hurry up and open the the barrier, couple of fellows in the bus yelling at the driver to get going, forget the fellows in the woods- complete hangama - the same people had hung around patiently for 3 hours at Chinese immigration, don't have an ounce of patience for their own people. the driver decided to teach them all a lesson and drive off to the next barrier. they came running, including the sole bearded fellow (who they derisively call 'Taliban' on the bus.)
besides the deportees, hes the only other Punjabi on the bus. 'Taliban' jumped off the bus the second we stopped, and began saying his asar prayers at the police chowki!!! he runs into the moving bus mad as hell for not waiting, theyre all yelling back at him...abhi kiya namaz parhney ka waqt hai? haan qaza ho jati warna..pagal insaan.....ghar ja kay parhna. bewaqoof, is ko namaz ki pari hai!
the whole scene unfolds like a comedy. the devout, praying on time, following the rules to the tee, dogmatic, bearded Punjabi trader, amidst a bus load of easy going Ismaili and Shia travelers not pushed about dogma or rules, holding his ground as much as they were theirs. the good thing is that these northern area folks conduct themselves with a sense of humor and ease...no getting riled up over technicalities, conversations don't become personal battles.....a sense of camaraderie with each other, and live and let live attitude for everyone else.
the next gate has a Khunjerab national forest ranger come in asking for the manifest, for forest entrance fees - they shoo him off like hes out of his mind. earlier they had collected Rs.20 per Pakistani, me included, and basically tell him to get lost, that's enough money for this bus-- hes reading the manifest and yelling back , 'theres an American' they're Koreans, they have to pay $10.00 each' they say 'no no no the American never made it from Tashkorgan (moi) the Koreans are Chinese, they've got it wrong on the manifest' (the Chinese don't pay a toll - they built the road!!) they practically push the poor fellow out and yell at the driver to hit the peddle -
we've barely driven 1/2 an hour and two narcotics officers stop us - they check all the Pakistanis with border passes (Northern Area residents travel to China's Xinjiang only on this pass) they're looking for a fellow who slipped out earlier with drugs. no luck. the guy wasn't returning on our bus! all the while there are three or four fellows sitting in front with me, some standing in the door way, all talking - i sat on the bus engine next to the driver all the way from Taskhkorgan even though butt was toasted by now - about what they do, how to get to America, how come i speak such good Urdu, my husband, my children, suggestions to come in the summer and spend a few months up north. better still rent an apartment in Kashgar for 6 months - ill surely save money and learn the language - which is a brilliant idea i might add - continually offering each other whatever meagre snacks we were each carrying, while i take pictures in a shaky bus, rolling along on solid icy KKH. the scenery after the pass becomes more and more dramatic and stunning, but by now i was so tired, just sat and talked with these fellows and quit taking pictures. enjoying the surreal scenery, the intersting easy going company in this bus journey. i figured all the pictures would be shaky anyways. suddenly i spotted the new crescent moon in the pink dusk light - 2nd moharram - what a beautiful sight. mummy had taught us to read one alhamd three quls and 7 salwats with our eyes shut, when we saw the new moon, along with a sweet farsi couplet - which I've forgotten - but basically says 'o new moon take away the worries the old moon gave me and bring with you happiness and glad tidings' then open your eyes and see something or someone beautiful first thing, so that the whole month would be blessed with that beauty. aga jan used to look at mummy's face, hold her delicate chin and give her a tight kiss on her cheeks - shed always be shy about it and say 'mat karain' in that sweet way of hers - and hed do it even more - shed have a smile at the corners of her lips -

i silently prayed that prayer, here in the Khunjerab valley and opened my minds eye to my loved ones.

7.40 am dec 30 Tashkorgan
in all fairness to last nights lodgings, the sheets, the pillows, and duvet cover were clean, the room warm. i could have slept well, but for that heavy garlic laced Chinese dinner. kept me awake till 2am. drifted in and out of sleep, afraid it would be morning and the bus would leave without me. concierge -- scruffy man and woman behind the front counter window - didn't wake me up at 7am as promised. glad i was awake at 6am myself, woke the woman, sound asleep behind the window, gave her my keys and walked into the freezing temperatures once again. the first stirrings of morning... all the little restaurants lighting their wood fires, kneading the dough, chopping the meat and veggies, boiling the soup, mopping the floors--while its -30c outside, and i walk in and out of each place that has an open door, so i can warm my face and hands.
bus wala had said he'd leave for customs check by 8am - not sure if they'll all be there....so i get myself half a naan and a cup of green tea in a big hurry. tastes like heaven--anything hot! the swine wants 5rmb for it...no Pakistani hosts these...money talks here.. the more the better.
kids walking to school -- i wonder why so many girls have premature white hair--who wants caps, its only dec! its their hair frozen in the morning air. my own snot is frozen solid, as are those hands and feet that just don't want to get even close to warm.
back to the bus - not a soul - what? they're not here? they've gone to breakfast. a haha- where? come ill take you... drops me off in front of another seedy looking joint -- they're all crammed in there - every Pakistani in town.. its noisy and welcoming..im the only woman in my now grimy down coat, cap, gloves, boots and still freezing... come baaji come -- sit -- where did you disappear last night? that other place right ? no good right? too much money. come what will you eat.. get her two fried eggs and paratha and tea....baaji eats with relish, downs the tea, the greasy paratha, the tasty over fried very yellow yolked eggs. the jhelum deportees huddle around the bukhari -- i ask if they've had breakfast --yes yes they'll get to eat, don't worry -- we've been feeding these buggers all this while haven't we?... i insist i pay for them--eggs and paratha and tea on me this morning....god bless you baaji all the way from china to jhelum to Karachi, god bless you, whoever you are, traveling in this god forsaken place in this god forsaken weather .. see you in the bus :-) :-)
god bless you too and keep you safe from whatever it is you're running away from or to!

9.30am tashkorgan - customs still -30c
cleared our personal bags with no hassles, except the loaded bus with all the trader samaan, unloading all that and reloading is going to take another hour or who knows how long..mean while even the hair inside my nose is frozen..
once were done with customs, they don't let us hang around inside the warm building -- so we sit outside in minus something or the other temps, on our bags, on the low wall or just jump from foot to foot to stay warm. too cold to write -- i try to read instead, but its no fun either. I'm using the darn hand warmers -- all they do is keep the hands 'warm' as in 'malool'...

11.30am finally
the most chaotic crazy rush to load the bus. the two chinese ladies at the front of the pushing, shoving, line by the bus door, get almost trampled by 15 men stampeding to get the first seats. its hilarious. all kinds of crooked middlemen, immigration officers, the driver, they're all exchanging money, stuffing more people than the already full bus that we came with from kashgar, or that it can hold. they've sold 5 extra seats when there isn't an inch of space in the bus. the extras argue away, ...those of us that came from kashgar are pushing them out-- no space, go take some other bus .. theres nothing else going -- this is the last day guys give us a break, we paid.. well you got jipped.. there aren't any seats cant you see.. we'll stand .. this goes on and on --till three of them finally get to stay. the other two are simply out of luck!. so the extras sit on top of the piles of bags in the aisles. the driver meanwhile decides to disappear. i think he either has diarrhea or is raking it in somewhere behind the bathroom, where i see him run off to. the immigration guys have stuffed one more fellow to the already packed bus. luckily he comes with us only till the last check post before the Pass.
i sit next to the driver right on the engine - determined not be shoved to the back with the deportees -- I'm taking pictures all the way home, even if I'm toasted solid in the process!
11.35 am hes back from the bathroom visit! were off to Sost!
as one final bribe and goodbye, a bag of apricots got handed to one of the Chinese immigration guys three hundred yards out the customs grounds.
i must learn their language to really figure out whats going on around me...
murdabad china!!
the landscape-- bright clear day, miles of snow on the pamirs- magnificent!