The Enchanting Journey to Gilgit-Baltistan
We are driving up one of the highest roads in the world, cloaked in shawls. The Karakoram Highway traces the Indus River up the spine of Pakistan, a cultural fissure dividing the Himalayas and the Indic world to the south from the Turkic world to the north. Along the highway are countless lavishly decorated trucks: psychedelic galleries in motion, embellished with a dizzying array of calligraphy, paintings, stickers and delicately carved wooden panels. Our vehicle is more mundane but practical: a beaten-up Land Cruiser, driven by the ever-amiable Riaz Ali, who has a habit of finding the most precarious rocky overhangs to perform his prayers.
I have come to Pakistan to visit the remote and icy land that ancient Chinese geographers called “Tibet of the Apricots.” Now known as Gilgit-Baltistan, it is a place of crumbling palaces and Islamic latticework, home to brown bears and snow leopards, where the Persian and Tibetan worlds collide at 8,200 feet. Many Pakistanis claim that it was the author’s visit to the liberal Muslim society of this region that inspired him to write the book in which this lost city motif appears.
For centuries, deadly mountain passes and the highest concentration of 26,000-foot peaks in the world left Gilgit-Baltistan isolated. Various empires attempted to govern the region through local leaders. As late as 1936, the Kashmir Times noted that one of the most powerful, the Mir of Hunza, still paid “tribute to four governments: British, Chinese, Russian and Kashmiri.” The result was an extraordinarily rich cultural landscape, where a range of languages and traditions coexisted. However, following the war between India and Pakistan over Kashmir, Hunza and other chiefdoms were dragged into the dispute. Ruled by the Maharajas of Kashmir until 1947, political instability and several high-altitude wars shut off this region to outsiders for decades. The doors to this lost world have only recently been thrown open again, and I wanted to see it for myself.
We cross the jade-colored Hunza River and enter a bucolic valley where the crisp air is scented with jasmine blossoms. Until the 1970s, Karimabad, Hunza’s capital, was still a medieval walled city, but it has since sprawled into perhaps Pakistan’s only tourist town, selling carpets, pashmina, and, true to the epithet, 60 types of apricot. Nonetheless, accustomed to the deforested industrial hill stations of India, with their vast real-estate projects and choked roads, Karimabad feels virtually untouched. In all directions, poplar trees rise from terraced fields and timber-framed houses are still more popular than concrete ones. Towering over the town is Rakaposhi, the 27th tallest mountain in the world.
Hunza is the most literate district in Pakistan, a place where working women are visible in the streets, in contrast with the predominantly male throngs in other towns. This progressive environment can be experienced at various local establishments, including heritage sites like Altit Fort, perched on a high mountain ridge overlooking the river. Built more than 1,000 years ago, it was restored by an all-woman team, who transformed the Royal Garden into a fabulous heritage hotel. “We aren’t afraid anymore,” says Suneila Baig, one of the first singers in Hunza’s Burushaski language. “Who can stop us?”
In a small gallery at the top of the fort, a series of photographs of the shamans of Hunza pique my interest. Shamanism was once widespread in the western Himalayas and has survived in Hunza, where traditions continue to thrive. “My grandmother was a shaman, a ‘bitan,’” explains Ibrar Hussain, an excitable old man who has returned to Pakistan as a tour guide. He shares captivating stories of his family’s history with shamanism and the deep-rooted beliefs that persist.
Khan’s elder son lays out some snacks while his two-year-old daughter plays on her father’s lap. Khan himself sits in a corner and counts his prayer beads, preparing for possession. After our tea, he lights a bowl of juniper twigs and incense, entering a trance where he communicates the messages from fairies, revealing the connection between culture, nature, and spirituality in this enchanting land.
As we journey further east past Gilgit, we descend into the Indus Gorge, where the mountains become rougher. This unforgiving terrain leads us into Baltistan, a rugged region where people still speak an archaic dialect of Tibetan. The landscape transforms drastically, with peaceful valleys turning into an arid moonscape. Over cups of tea, we hear local tales of the yeti, adding to the mystical allure of the region.
Eventually, we grind to a halt due to a landslide. The curious scene unfolds as the drivers, who turn out to be cousins, embrace each other before working together to build a bridge over the rubble. This moment exemplifies the strong community ties that prevail even in challenging circumstances.
The nighttime brings us to the grand Serena Shigar Fort, created on a boulder in a small oasis of cherry blossoms. K2, the second-highest mountain in the world, looms nearby, while local traditions intertwine with modern influences. As we explore the area, exquisite woodwork and antique furniture adorn historic sites, continuously showcasing the rich heritage of Northern Pakistan.
As we adjust to the altitude, we finally reach Khaplu, known for its distinctive Tibetan architecture and stunning terraced fields. Overlooking the fields is Serena Khaplu Palace, a miniature version of Lhasa’s Potala Palace. The romance of this heritage property lies in its history and breathtaking surroundings, where visitors can indulge in local delicacies while enjoying the views.
On our final afternoon in Baltistan, I converse with Raja Naser Khan Yabgo, who reflects on the impact of historical trading routes and the transformation of his homeland. “Khaplu was built on the riches of Silk Road caravans,” he explains. “Seven decades ago, everything changed.” His stories reveal a deep understanding of the region’s complex history and its shifting cultural landscape.
Amidst the beauty and struggle, the Balti people maintain their vibrant culture, celebrating shared traditions that bind them to their heritage. As sunset casts a golden hue over the rugged landscape, one ponders whether the tales of the past can ever fade completely, or if echoes of history will continue to resonate in Gilgit-Baltistan.
Where to Stay
The Serena chain has transformed several palaces into Pakistan’s first heritage hotels. The Serena Altit Fort Residence is situated at the base of the oldest surviving building in Gilgit-Baltistan, in the historic Altit Khun village. Guests can enjoy exquisite local cuisine made from organic, locally grown produce, while the views of the Hunza River are simply spectacular.
Another historic gem is the Serena Shigar Fort, beautifully restored and offering a unique glimpse into the region’s rich past. Built on a massive boulder, it serves dishes with fresh cherries from its gardens, allowing guests to experience the culinary delights of the area.
Serena Khaplu Palace is the epitome of blended aesthetics, showcasing the rich tapestry of Balti, Kashmiri, and Tibetan influences. Its breathtaking views of snowy peaks and home-cooked local delicacies immerse guests in the serene beauty of the valley.
Getting Around
Explorers can find private travel options to northern Baltistan tailored to their needs, offering a comprehensive experience that showcases the unique culture and landscapes of the area.
