On the Attari-Wagah border, the lands belonging to India and Pakistan are separated by two closed and closely guarded metal gates. There are stands on both sides that can accommodate 10,000 and 25,000 people on the Pakistan and Indian sides, respectively.

Every day, several thousand spectators gather here for so called “closing the border” or “lowering the flag” ceremony. It is an extraordinary performance, delighting with its scale and scope, as well as evoking reflections on the essence of the conflict and mutual relations between India and Pakistan. Spectators with tiranga painted on their cheeks, popcorn, and flags in their hands arrive here from 4 p.m., taking the best seats in the stands. Pre-ceremony leaders whip up patriotism towards the motherland and hostile attitude towards the neighboring country. In an obvious pantomime, they “press” the opponent into the ground with the heel, “kick” him into space, and “knock out” with their fists. The crowds cheer.

Hindustan Zindabad! – chanting can be heard on the Indian side. Pakistan Zindabad! – heard in Pakistani. Bollywood hits blare and words of patriotic propaganda pour from the speakers.

At sunset on both sides, the same thing will happen simultaneously. A handful of well-dressed soldiers enter the main field. Ironed uniforms and pomaded mustaches shine bright. They wear characteristic plumed headgear and festive white shoes on their feet. They’re about to start putting on a war show.

First, an inspection parade – the border guard commander will check the soldiers to confirm their readiness for service. Then a brisk march with legs swinging above their heads. It’s a show of fitness and strength. The soldiers take up subsequent positions and in several iterations approach the open gates of the border. Every gesture is exaggerated.

Pakistan Rangers and Indian Border Security Forces face each other. They exchange sinister glances, shake their fists, and make stern faces so that no one has any doubts about who is on top, who is better and who is about to “eat” whom. Then they energetically lower their national flags, shake hands and march away. The gate closes with a clang and the audience rushes to the exit. This time tomorrow, the same thing will happen here.

How did the Attari-Wagah border closing ceremony come about?

Officially, India does not like Pakistan. The roots of hostility go back to the times of the British Crown, when the lands of both countries belonged to one geopolitical entity. The British administration, using the “divide and rule” policy, created social divisions around everything – especially around religious affiliation. Ultimately, the Crown, abandoning its colonies in 1947, had to divide the subcontinent between Muslims – demanding their own state based on religion, and not Muslims led by Gandhi, striving to create one multicultural state. The partition of India deepened the social divide, as the arbitrarily drawn line placed millions on the “wrong side” and were, in a sense, forced to migrate. Hundreds of thousands of families have suffered historical injustice, and time hardly erases the painful memories. Conflict over disputed territories, such as Kashmir, continues to smolder to this day.

Soon after the partition of British India, border buildings, barriers and gates were constructed. The ceremony began to be celebrated shortly thereafter. It was intended to be an expression of military power and a tool for strengthening patriotism in the emerging states.

The armies of Pakistan and India were derived from earlier British military organizations, or formations subordinate to local rajas, but also under English authority. The British army has a number of show rituals that could be used here to create a spectacular ceremony. It is not known on whose initiative and exactly how the scenario of the event was shaped, but the 18th century beating retreat ceremony was used to create it.

Beating retreat is a ritual of ending a war day before sunset. In those days, fighting did not take place at night. So at dusk, drum beating called on the soldiers to stop fighting, secure their positions and prepare for rest. Flags were lowered during the suspension of fighting, demonstrating to the other side the strength of their army and certainty of victory. All accompanied by drumming and loud commanding.

The reflections are obvious – these are people who once lived in harmony with each other. Affected by colonialism and quarreled by foreigners, finally they borrowed the ceremony from their invaders. By that and with elements of hatred towards a brotherly country, they want to build national pride and patriotic attitudes.

Additionally, for the entire event to be successful, Pakistani Rangers and Border Security Forces had to prepare this ceremony together. It’s bitter and weird, isn’t it?

How to attend the Wagah border closing ceremony?

From the Indian side, the base for trips to the ceremony is Amritsar – 27 km from the border. From here, taxis and rickshaws gather at the exit of Golden Temple and take viewers to the border parking lot at a fixed price (in August 2023, a round trip for one person cost 300 rupees). To be on time, catch a rickshaw or taxi no later than 3 p.m. in summer (2 p.m. in winter) and be prepared for 45 minutes of moderate discomfort.

Public transport (taxis and rickshaws) takes spectators to a parking lot about 1.5 km from the border. The remaining distance must be covered on foot. As soon as you exit the vehicle, you will be greeted by Indian flag sellers. Somebody will definitely want to decorate your cheeks with three flag colors or put a patriotic baseball cap on your head. As you walk towards the border, stock up on water and snacks. You’ll find plenty of them along the road.

There are multiple entrances to the ceremony and at least 2 security checks. Please remember that large bags, backpacks and large tripods are not allowed into the stands. Foreigners are asked to show their passport and are directed to the VIP section, which offers excellent views of the ceremony and the gate itself.

The ceremony itself starts at 5:15 a.m. in summer and around 4:30 a.m. in winter, but is preceded by a number of attractions, such as dancing to Bollywood music, running with flags, etc. Observing these attractions and the chanting crowd is an integral part of this experience.

Admission is free. If you can, avoid weekends because they are extremely crowded.

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There was no road until recently and anticipating a bit, no, it wasn’t built by the government. To get out of the village to the main thoroughfare of Karakoram, one had to walk for about 3 days. That was how long it took to cover 56 km of rocky terrain, crisscrossed here and there by streams from melting glaciers. This journey along the icy Shimshal river was made only by those who really had to. Horses or donkeys could be used for transportation, but how many things could be moved this way along a narrow path carved in the rock?

Shimshal Valley

For 400 years, people have lived on what they can produce here themselves. They divided the fertile land at the riverside plain into small plots that were easy to cultivate by hand. Only potatoes, wheat and barley grow well here. Apricots and apples supplement the diet. Traditional mills were built by the river to turn grain into flour effortlessly.

The valley is surrounded on three sides by the Karakoram mountain range and is adjacent to the seven-thousanders Yukshin Gardan Sar, Disteghil Sar and Karun Koh. No wonder that the most famous guides and porters come from here and willingly accompany Himalayan climbers on their life changing expeditions.

It is not easy to take care of the heat here, because the village lies really high – at 3100 m. The temperature in the valley drops to -27 in winter. Until recently, electricity came only from hydropower plants, operating from June to October, later the water froze. In winter, Shimshal was plunged into coolness and darkness, illuminated only by the soft flame of kerosine lamps in the evenings.

In summer the area comes alive. If you want to have a harvest, you have to sow and take care of the crops. Cattle, sheep, goats and yaks must be herded to summer pastures to produce milk and wool, and then become a valuable trade commodity. House roofs require repairs after winter. Water must be brought to the fields,  the fields fenced with stone walls, and broken bridges restored.

It is clear that most of the work will not be successful without cooperation with neighbors. Together it’s easier and faster. “Together” is necessary for survival here, because in these remote, hard-to-reach areas you can’t count on outside help.

Shimshal Valley Road

Shimshal Valley Road – perversely called the immortal road is “jeepable” or passable … only for vehicles adapted to difficult terrain. An inconspicuous, unmarked turn from the Karakoram asphalt thoroughfare leads across the bridge straight to the “low” section regularly flooded by the river. During the summer season, water takes up the road almost every afternoon – as the level rises, fed by streams of melting glaciers.

Shortly thereafter, the trail climbs to the mountain ledges. The most difficult part is the one where the narrow route was cut in almost vertical rocks 700 m above the gorge. The blind turns wind numerously, making your heart beat faster. On one side there is a vertical wall up, on the other – vertical wall down. The waters of the Shimshal River roar loudly below. Shale debris regularly slides onto the road, creating traction traps. There is no room for error. One false move and death is guaranteed. You won’t even be able to get down to retrieve the body or whatever was left from the vehicle.

The Shimshal River is to be crossed several times via wooden suspension bridges before the gorge turns into a boulder-strewn plain. The landscape suddenly becomes Martian. And only the detour marked with stones indicates that a bridge has been submerged by water again.

The kilometers seem to pass quickly. From time to time, however, the road climbs again to the ledge and here you also have to watch out for landslides – active ones that can cause further movements and those that have been repaired, which left the ground uncertain and the road uneven. Eventually the track enters the valley and the dangers are left behind

The Shimshalis built the road with their own hands. Over the years, they demanded it from subsequent governments, but all they got was a proposal of resettlement to other, more easily accessible valleys. However it was hard to leave their fatherland.

They received explosives and heavy equipment as support from Aga Khan Rural Support Program – an institution named after the spiritual leader of the Ismailis, which invested largely in the construction. All the work they had to do themselves.

For 18 years, only women took care of the families in the village. They cultivated backyard plots, groomed goats and chickens, and coordinated cattle grazing on summer pastures. The men spent their time cracking ledges in the rock high above the rushing river. They were building a path to a better future. And not everything always went smoothly. Someone took a careless step and fell into the abyss straight into the Shimshal River, and several were seriously injured in the blasts.

The first trip to Shimshal was made by 4 jeeps driven by local drivers. People in the village rubbed their eyes, unable to believe that they had finally succeeded. And they shed tears of emotion. A great festivity was organized in the village to celebrate the new beginning of life in the valley.

The opening of the road in 2003 provided people with a connection to civilization. Solar panels, cell phone towers, and a whole host of previously unavailable technology have appeared in the valley. Young people gained new opportunities for education in the city and were more willing to migrate permanently to Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi. The villages of Shimshal opened up to more tourism, and now, in addition to houses, the construction of guesthouses according to Western standards began.

Initially, only 6 vehicles could travel on this road. There were few daredevils willing to tackle technically difficult turns at heights. And able to control their emotions when they encounter an oncoming vehicle on a narrow, single lane of the road.

But in 20 years – a lot has changed here. At least 1 public transport runs into the valley every day. The shared jeep starts in the town of Ali Abad and you can buy a seat here for only $3.

Renting the whole car costs $65. Cargo jeeps are hired frequently and mainly carry construction materials, household chemicals and food that cannot be produced locally.

Privately rented jeeps with tourists also travel here, because suddenly the valley became accessible without any special effort. Getting to Shimshal in just 5 hours opens the way to numerous scenic trails, such as the week-long day trek to the Shimshal Pass.

And more and more motorcycles can be found here.

Watch our ride on Youtube:
https://youtu.be/pn6hzv12InA
https://youtu.be/JRPTrJS3iKs

Shimshal Valley Road by motorcycle

Mainly the inhabitants of the valley and the surrounding villages of the upper Hunza run  on their Suzuki GS150 on the road to Shimshal,. In rural, less accessible areas of northern Pakistan, such a motorcycle is the most popular means of transport. Locals usually ride without helmets, without protectors and wearing flip-flops – so as not to accidentally get their proper shoes wet while “rowing” their feet through streams.

The turn  (east direction) of the Karakoram Highway is few kilometers above Passu. A gravel road leads to a wide suspension bridge behind which there is the last checkpost (passport and visa must be shown).

A few kilometers further, the road goes along the Shimshal River and there is a place flooded by the river regularly. When the water level is too high for the passage, local road services appear and build the road a little higher.

Further on, the road gently climbs up with not too sharp bends. You can encounter active landslides here, which deposit locally thick gravel layers – they are not removed on an ongoing basis. These landslides do not pose a threat to cars, low motorcycles can traverse this area slowly, but riding faster in standing position is more difficult and the conditions are demanding. On this section there are also fast-flowing, although not very deep, streams on the bends.

Then the road ascends to phenomenal rock ledges. The route is incredibly scenic, unfortunately it is very narrow and has a lot of blind turns. When riding close to the walls, you have to be very careful not to hit the rocks with your side paneers. Although traffic here is not heavy, it is advisable to honk before turns and be prepared to brake on loose ground.

It is advisable for bike riders to let an oncoming vehicle pass by sticking to the rock wall and waiting until the driver outmaneuvers his vehicle.

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On January 4, 2010, one rock trembled, cracked, and in broad daylight the entire slope collapsed. Rock debris blocked the flow of the river. The whole hill fell with a thud and made quite a mess! The area was enveloped in thick brown dust, people rushed out to see what had happened, but no one expected what was to happen in the next 48 hours. In the blink of an eye, the water began to rise in place, forming a lake. First, the village of Aminabad sank, leaving 32 families homeless. The next village of Shishkat was under water. Houses, shops, shoemakers’ workshops and carpenters’ workshops were sinking fast. Water mercilessly flooded crops, took away animals, brought in return fear, concern and helplessness. 170 homes, 120 shops disappeared, 20 people died and 25,000 were cut off. More than 6,000 inhabitants of the surrounding valleys were affected in one way or another. To make matters worse, the road also disappeared under water.

The rock mess cut off the northern villages from any supplies. A week after the incident, the army brought boats so that those “stuck” on the wrong side of the landslide could return home. Karakoram – the north’s only thoroughfare has been severed beyond easy repair.

Out of chaos and catastrophe emerged Lake Attabad – with wonderful turquoise waters. For the whole 5 years, the barge crossing was the only way to transport people and necessities to the villages of Gulmit, Passu, Sost, Shimmshal, Misgar, Chipurson and other smaller ones whose names are known only to their inhabitants. Fuel, medicines and products that could not be produced in mountain villages, such as cooking oil or household chemicals, were transported north via lake.

The reconstruction of 22 km of the damaged road started after 2 years. The combination of rock ledges, tunnels and detours was created in the next 3 years of joint efforts of China and Pakistan. The lake slowly changed it’s purpose. Instead of dirty cargo barges, gleaming motorboats, pedalos and jet skis appeared. Tourist facilities, cafes and equipment rentals settled on the shores. Tourists  arrived, mostly from Lahore, Karachi and the southern provinces. The lake began a new useful life – enjoying the eyes of visitors with unreal blue.

Somewhere in the gap between the two tunnels lies the most romantic corner of the Karakoram Highway. You have to turn at the hand-painted Pak-China Friendship sign to the rock ledge right on the shore and stay here for longer. There will still be the humming of vehicles rushing towards Gilgit or Hunza behind. But in front, the majesty of the mountains, the calmness of the waters and absolute silence are striking.

Yet you have to hurry to experience it. The waters of Hunza river have dug a leak and the lake is slowly shrinking. From the side of Gulmit, dry muddy stretches of wasteland appear. There are stumps of trees sunk alive only 13 years ago and you can already see the ruins of sunken houses. Nature will take the lake just as it took the previously developed areas. Not in 100, or 50 years, but in the next 5 to 10. Ah, life. Changes are inevitable. And happening faster.

More on Attabad lake: Attabad Lake: A Tragedy or a Blessing in Disguise? | Displaced by Disaster | Ep 1

The post Lake Attabad – the true story first appeared on ONE MORE ADV.

Evening and night have been so tiring that I didn’t really feel like having another travel problems to solve. We’ve had some real adventures the day before with officials trying to give us an escort, and guesthouses refusing to accommodate us. Moreover we got food poisoned one after another and felt really weak.

I was exchanging messages with Adeel – Pakistani biker traveller for a few days and he mentioned the location as one they were supposed to visit last night. It must be decent place to rest overnight before further journey north – I thought, while packing stuff. They wouldn’t be there anymore, but I want to meet them in Chitral. I am so curious about the Canadian Youtube Celeb – King of Pakistan couple!

The road to Nagar fort is pleasantly led along the river. Up to Lowari Tunnel not much is going on in terms of landscapes. We pass small towns and concentrate on efficient riding to reach the destination before dark.

The Lowari tunnel itself is said to be the longest tunnel in Asia. Impressive, as it is – 10 km long shortening the way of over 22 km through huge snowed Lowari Pass and icy serpentine road in Hindu Kush mountains. Bikes are not allowed there on wheels. Yeah that sounds ridiculous – like do you know any other tunnel in the world where bikes have to be carried through?

“The tunnel is dangerous, it’s very dark there” – said the guy with omnipresent Ak47 just before he lead us towards small loading platform.
Step shaped terrain allows bikes to ride into the loading space of the pickup.
“It’s not possible to load 2 on 1” – I said.
“There are 2 for you – replied the driver.”

Right next to Toyota sleek Suzuki Ravi appeared.

Lowari Tunnel

I have loaded my bike on tiny little boats before but never heavy ones. So one more adventure ahead! I am starting slowly and under Jack’s hints I am just smoothly parked in the pickup crate. Whoah that was easier than I imagined!  The minute later Jack is also loaded the same way and the drivers start to secure our stallions with a rope. Not the best protection, but at least they assured themselves that we are good to go!

Sitting on my bike swaying on the car crate I am dividing my attention between looking out the danger in perfectly even concrete tunnel lighten with old style bulbs and holding the rails of Suzuki Ravi crate. More danger in preventing my bike from falling here than from riding.

Finally the dim light of dusk is shining in far end. We’re unpacking bike at the ramp and getting ready to go further. There is only 33 km left to Drosh and Nagar Fort is even closer. Sadly It’s getting dark and all we can see is nicely serpentined asphalt in front of us. Judging from hairpins and elevation changes – that must be an awesome road! I am little disappointed that we left too late again and I cannot see the best part of the road, but quickly get over the feeling.

Soon, the green signs announcing Nagar fort are showing up. We take sharp U shaped curve, go down concrete narrow road and cross the river Chitral through wooden suspension bridge. The gate opens and Adeel greets us there. Together with Rosie they have arrived just few minutes before us, so we’re all agreeing to refresh ourselves and have dinner together.

The real value of Nagar Fort as a place making up for all hardships reveals itself slowly. The massive stone walls are hiding beautifully manicured gardens, evenly cut lawns decent quality rooms, and spatious terraces with awesome views. Dinner is coming late but with great variety of fresh delicious food. The four of us is sharing chicken karahi, palak and sabzi talking mostly about ourselves as we even didn’t meet in person before. Within different life stories we soon find similarities of perception and perspective. I feel really excited to find new pals, Jack is also enjoying as definitely – we get along!

The morning after we decide to continue the travel north together.

Shopping pitstop in Drosh

Ride starts easily with paved roads, nice curves and landscape distracting with beauty. Adeel leads the group with great confidence. One could say not only he knows it by heart, but also he has the ability to see backwards to make sure the group members are following with the pace. We reach Drosh town and stop here for shopping and fueling bikes. Boring things done, let’s head towards our destination: Kalasha Valley.

This is one of the areas in northern Pakistan less explored by western tourists. Known from stunning mountain passes, blue eyed, traditionally dressed people who used to claim that they are direct Alexander the Great descendants. Eager to see it with my own eyes!

Initial kilometers are so rewarding with scenic views… The Chitral river winds down in the canyon, just along the road. The small houses on the opposite slope look like chocolate boxes pressed here and there into the rocky slope. Occasional flats between the mountains are filled with green terraces.

Miles, go by fast, but… How that’s even possible? – I am staring with disbelief on incredible dance of gopro & mobile filming on the go by Rosie and Adeel. This looks like motorcycle video dance. Every time I turn my head away from the landscape to look in the road in front of me I see the camera lens shooted forward, backward, to the side, oh, every possible direction! There are always 2 devices in use each and every moment and these two are real pros when it comes to filming while riding. Rosie’s long braid jumps happily in the wind while she is steering her Fuego motorcycle one hand. Adeel films mostly backwards holding his Iphone straight confidently. Given the speed we’re riding… hats off!

The real adventure is beginning when we turn into off road part of the track. Narrow, bumpy mountain road winds up and down to the river providing the real thrill. Parts are carved in the rock, other destroyed by landslides. Here and there the stream is crossing the path. Rosie and Adeel don’t stop filming. Gear changes? Yeah… without the clutch.

The photo pit stops are a must, and we’re having them quite a few. Whenever we stop – Rosie pulls out her Sony and sharpens the views with her artist’s eye.

World is full of home made photographers, viedeographers, but I’ve never met such visual art beast – I thought.

Few times we come across the cars driving opposite direction and pass them not without flutter as the sandy banks of road are neighbouring deep abyss. The four of us are having ultimate fun though. That’s exactly what you come here for right? Winding mountainous roads, no protective bands that spoil the views and challenging adventure rides!

The technical challenges are there too. Rosie’s bike has some problems with starting all the day, eventually it stops for good. Jack asks about the symptoms and finds the problem within 5 minutes. Fuel filter came away and prevented the fuel flow. It’s getting dark and we are in the middle of nowhere, so Jack and Adeel are fixing it with zip straps. Adeel’s bike lost some air from rear tyre, hence seizing the opportunity Jack pulls out the pump.

Remaining 15 km we overcome in complete darkness. Rushing through small Kalasha settlements we’re greeted occasionally by villagers. The moon is almost full and despite cloudy sky the details of the road are quite visible in the dark. Eventually we reach Happy Guesthouse in Bumburett valley, offering simple, yet cosy wooden rooms in the mountains. The following night will be Adeel’s birthday and a start to the most inspiring and blissful friendship. But this story is yet to be told…

The post Up to Kalasha Valleys with Adeel Amer & Rosie Gabrielle first appeared on ONE MORE ADV.

Well it’s not so bad in fact, just time consuming. You can easily make friends with a bunch of Pakistani soldiers, shoot quite nice gun-including selfies and yes, you can stop the ride if something interesting pops up on your way. So keep calm and head East with these guys as fast as you can!

The escort started as soon as we cleared the passport issues and reached the gate of Pakistan. Straight from the border offices we were taken to Taftan Levies Station and parked our motorbikes behind its walls.

We were supposed to spend the night in Levies guestroom. Very basically equipped with a dusty carpet, totally demolished sofa, and an old empty wardrobe of fame with stickers of other adventurous travellers. There was a  bathroom attached that hadn’t been probably cleaned from the moment it was brought to existence.

Not a fancy place to stay, but no other choice provided. We spent some time preparing dinner, sharing tea with soldiers and getting ready for the next adventures.

There is a washy note on the wall of Taftan Levies explaining the rules of the house. Info included in it leaked out to the travellers community and although it shouldn’t be treated to seriously (as all actions here are people- not procedure-based) you may consider adapting to that.

Good advice is to show up at the levies station the day before their “move day”.  No matter how early you pass through Taftan border you will not make it to be escorted the same day. Escorts leave 8.30-9.00 am and you should be ready to go at that time with all your luggage safely packed on your motorcycle.

As for 2023 there were 2 main routes for escort:

• Up to Islamabad – for those planning to go further north to the mountains (1546 km)
• Up to Multan – for those heading South of Pakistan, or India (1260 km)

Both ways start in Taftan, and continue along with levies changing every several dozen km.

Our plan was to learn the mountainous regions and enjoy the beauty of the valleys stretched widely in districts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Gilgit Baltistan. So the longer route was supposed to take us 5-7 days depending on the availability and pace of escorting cars.

Eager to see the new country we woke up early, prepared some breakfast from whatever we brought with us from Iran and made ourselves ready to go. The landscape did not change much from what we’ve had before in Balochistan. But now we were following white Landcruiser with two soldiers equipped with AK47 staring at us from the bench in the back. Felt quite awkward indeed!

First levies change took place in Nok Kundi. Here we were brought to military headquarters. The long building with outside terrace used to serve as after flood help distribution point half a year ago.  Car that led us here vanished suddenly and we were asked to wait until the new one would come.

Via a beautiful desert and rocky mountains landscape we continued up to Dalbandin Police station. Here was our second accommodation point, even more interesting than the previous one.

A typical Police station in Balochistan consist of a walled yard with rooms around and a high metal gate. All well-guarded by barbed wire plus bunch of generously armed policemen. In Dalbandin they also have small custody with arrested staring to whatever goes on in the yard for long hours. Twice daily you could see them running in circles on small barred area in front of prison cells.

The office of the Head of the Police station was offered to us as our temporary shelter. Didn’t differ much from the first place, just maybe the washroom was little bit cleaner and the room was equipped with a proper desk and lots of chairs.

Having experience of sleeping in dust we pulled out our tarp and mattresses for the night. We were run out of water, but we were not allowed to go out of the post. Instead the boss sent someone with our list to do the shopping. He told us also exciting news – our escort should end in Quetta and from there we’d be free to travel by ourselves. Given that plus Police wifi we booked a nice bright hotel room in Quetta for the next day.

Second day of escort was just a series of changing levies, policemen plus signing the records in checkpoints. When we were lucky the car was riding with adaptable speed, but sometimes we had to follow 60km/h leader smelling his puffing fumes. Some checkpoints didn’t have a car to send with us, so they sent the motorcycle twice smaller than any of ours ,with gun equipped, but with a helmetless hero on it.

Under such circumstances we barely did 50 km per hour average, and we were run out of energy quickly.  Just when we started to chitchat about the whimsicality of the situation we got to suburbs of Quetta.

The traffic here… yeah that was something to watch, observe and survive. First of all Pakistan is left side driving country. But you embrace it easily as long as you are away from the towns and cities. As soon as more vehicles appear on the road you realize that left side traffic is only the suggestion given to drivers but not the obligatory rule. Similar to these road signs, traffic lights and other useful achievements of vehicle movement organization – are just hints here.  Add to that the impression that everybody is in utmost hurry, and there is no free passage that would not become occupied after just seconds. Given that it seemed wise to concentrate all the efforts on staying close to the leading vehicle. The soldiers at the back stood up from the benches and helped to direct the vehicles to sides making sure we manage to pass the crossroads.

At this moment we felt gratitude to these guys, cause they provided really smooth introduction to Pakistani city traffic. Riding Quetta – a hectic city for the first time would be so much more difficult if we had to navigate it by ourselves. Eventually, after a few changes of escorting vehicles – ranging from proper Police Hilluxes to tiny 2 wheel Hondas and an hour of traffic adventures we got to the hotel. To our surprise it was not our chosen ritzy one. Instead we were brought to hostel- standard one with smallish rooms and old stinking furniture. They told us that we have to stay in one of 3 approved hotels in Quetta – and this one was chosen for us as best meeting our needs. OMG – did we really look like hobos?

Both of us were not easily complying with anything that is contrary to our choice. Add to that disappointment caused by this place completely missing our expectations and frustration of not getting what we already had taken for granted.

So we started insisting on taking us to our chosen place. The escort policemen did not speak proper English, so they put us on call with their supervisor. Our fussing around brought no effect at all, just only we were taken to the police station to be repeatedly explained in person that all these settings are for safety reasons. They even checked the other hotels for us but the other two approved were full for that night. All in vain. Ultimately we gave up after 3 hours and let them take us back to the place of their choice. All our plans for hedonistic evening hot shower and cuddling in king size bed failed pitifully.

Contrary to what we’ve been promised just an evening before, we were not free in Quetta.
The next day we were supposed to organize NOC document (Non Objection Certificate) that was obligatory for further travel to Islamabad. But not that we could move around through the city by ourselves. The hotel reception called the escort for us and we were taken to the main police station again in the police car.
Preparing NOC took the officers some 2 quarters. There was also one more document prepared at this time that they called “wireless orders” and it seemed to us that somehow the information about us going further towards Islamabad has been spread to all checkpoints on the way.

After dealing with these formalities we were escorted back to hotel. We packed our stuff on motorcycles while the friendly policemen waited for us. As we were run out of rupees that we exchanged yet in Iran we asked them to find the money exchange or ATM for us. They led us to it as well as to Ufone office where we bought local simcards.
We felt that having them with us saved a lot of time that we usually spent hassling to find the right places to deal with our issues – thank you guys!

So equipped with money, simcards and freshly bought groceries we said goodbye to our motorbike escort and hello to new Corolla one.
For the last 24 hours we tried to learn where exactly our escort would be finished. Some policeman said “in Quetta”, the other claimed that in the “city of Zhob”, but he was not very sure of it, so it seemed wise to believe in the words of well-informed hotel receptionist who appointed some place on the way – somewhat 200 km further.
To our surprise after few levies changes we were left in the middle of the road – alone. That’s it! We felt happy to regain freedom and rode freely another 100 km.

Craving to see life of the village and hungry enough to stop for some street food we didn’t bypass Muslim Bagh but went straight into it. Random police car found us while we were ordering chicken BBQ. Good for us as this village hadn’t seen foreigners for years probably, and the circle of onlookers was literally doubling every minute making us feel somewhat endangered. Policemen dispersed the crowd, but also announced they would escort us from the city and beyond – to the borders of their district. All right we agreed, thinking (stupidly) that they just wanted to take us away from the people’s curiosity.

But that was not what happened – the next cars passed us like a baton in a relay race. As the cars held reasonable speed and the changes of escort proceeded smoothly we just followed with a pinch of resignation.  We could have moved faster by ourselves, but you don’t mess up with the police or army in these countries unless you really have no other choice.

To our surprise the escort stopped us in Qila Saifullah town and said we would stay there overnight in a government guesthouse, because it would be dark very soon.  To that we simply could not agree, not only because it did not make any sense regarding the distance left to Zhob, but also we knew it would be another dirty and dusty place we did’t want to spend the night in. We refused crossing the gate of the guesthouse and stayed in public space for further discussions. Inevitably people started to gather around us trying to understand what’s going on. It was 4 p.m. and 150 km to Zhob – the city in which we hoped to find decent hotel room. We could easily make that if not the police stopping us “for our safety” with every possible lie they could come out with. “The road is closed due to accident”, “Supervising officers did not give the permission”, bla, bla…

We fought for 2 hours in front of government guesthouse, then in front of police station – until it got dark. Didn’t dare to run away, as we truly felt we had no idea of what we were dealing with. Long story short we agreed with the head of the police station that we would start escorted riding the next day at 6 a.m.  Poor guy assured us he would come here by himself at 5 a.m. to make sure we are ok and the escort starts on time.  Of course he did not mean it. But we were serious and determined to finish the custody as soon as possible and get back to our normal life.

So exactly 6 am we showed up at the gate ready to go. There was no one here except deep sleeping guard whom we mercilessly woke up. This one could not speak English however he understood what we wanted to do. He tried to call the police station to solve the problem, but his mobile did not work and our simcard was not active yet.  Despite his desperate protests we managed to move our motorbikes outside the gate. From here we went to the police station. Here again we had to wake up everyone and make them start the day early as promised.

We felt so tired of travel conditions, fed up with police lies and resentful enough to start riding on our terms. When we were reaching the checkpoint and the car was not there waiting for us – we simply started riding further by ourselves saying to officers we didn’t have time to wait. When they assigned us a car or motorbike riding far below bearable speed we were just overcoming it and riding with our own pace, up to the next checkpoint.

All good but Islamabad was too far away and we planned to stay for night in (again) posh hotel in Dhera Ismail Khan. We reached the city alone, but to our surprise every hotel we approached claimed it was fully booked. Eventually we learnt they didn’t want to let foreigners in as the police do not allow that (again safety reasons).

We were not very keen to stay in another government guesthouse or police guestroom. Dreamt about hot shower and clean bed after 4 days of riding dusty roads in puffs of fumes and spending nights in … ekhmmm modest places. So we just went back to the hotel we liked the most and asked them politely to check us in. When they refused again – we gave up and told them to call the police to come and take us from there.

While we were waiting some other Pakistani hotel guests came and just because of their will to help started negotiating with hotel managers. Than the police came and somehow with loads of special permissions we were allowed to check in for 1 night. By talking to the policemen we’ve learnt also that from 2 available roads to Islamabad only one is allowed for motorbikes. Two-wheelers are not allowed on motorways, so for us only the longer way was possible to take. Given that we started our escorted journey again early in the morning.

The road around Dera Ismail Khan was quite busy. It was the last Sunday before Ramadan and there was lots of festive events on the way. We stopped to watch tent pegging for a while and crossed crowded area of local amusement park – again being grateful for having the escort clearing the way through heavy traffic.
Unfortunately our soldiers messed up the way and we got stuck behind their car on some road under construction – unpaved and full of dust. Moving speed fell down to 30 km/h. After about half an hour riding like that, we knew already it was not the right track. So we overtook the car, moved forward with reasonable speed and stopped once we reached the paved lanes. To our relief our escort did not show up and we decided to continue alone with Garmin navigation. That’s how we found ourselves at the entrance to motorway.

Being informed again we cannot enter it, we were let in as an exception and favour for “dear valuable guests in Pakistan”. Well good for us. We couldn’t remember when was the last time that we had been so delighted to ride the highway. Even with every motorway patrol stopping us to check how come we are riding here the last 150 km to Islamabad was pure joy!

Arrived in the evening to the nice&clean guesthouse in the suburbs of Islamabad we felt that’s the moment when our Pakistani adventure begins.

The post Taftan to Islamabad under military escort 2023 first appeared on ONE MORE ADV.