ne envisioned, with lashings of life span and semi Himalayan knowledge. Rather than Hunza Pie, I settle for a mountain-style cappuccino made on a little machine that a venturesome youthful Hunzakot has sent up from Karachi, far toward the south.
The Karakoram piles of northern Pakistan ascend in a vertical background above antiquated Karimabad, the biggest settlement in Hunza. Saw tooth wedges of air and earth interlock while, far beneath, the Hunza River, hued like wet bond, beats its direction south, giving back the mountains to the Indian Ocean grain by grain. A little yet constant flow of travelers handle the more responsible option to Hunza.
Arriving is the greater part the enterprise. The Karakoram Highway (mutually worked by China and Pakistan in the vicinity of 1958 and 1978) is regularly influenced by icy masses and washouts – all things considered, Karakoram is a Turkic expression for “disintegrating rock” – and daring Pakistan Army bulldozer drivers are for all time sent to keep the “KKH” safe.
On the way to Hunza, our smaller than usual transport has taken after this snow-nourished deluge adjacent to the Karakoram Highway – which is humbly commended on one Pakistani tourism notice as “the most splendid accomplishment of humankind of the twentieth century.