Our Jeep was painted bright red, one of several owned by the Karakoram Jeep Trek International tour operators. It had been lengthened slightly to give more leg-room with a padded bench seat at the back, narrower side seats and three in the front which were occupied by our Guide, the driver and Mr. Bullbull the porter. Yes, we rode in style with three to look after the two of us. They are so short of tourists that often other drivers or helpers took it in turn to come along for the ride.
As we drove north towards the Swat valley, the plains were extremely hot and very dusty. Even on the tarmac dual carriageways so many road-works were in progress that we drove through a constant cloud of dust. The front flap of my Kameez (correct spelling - I looked it up in John Gillow's Indian Textiles - the baggy trousers are called Salwar) was very useful for covering the camera and the veil, held across my face, kept some of the dust out. Now some of you may ask why I bothered to wear the National dress when ten years ago, in 1993, decent long trousers and long-sleeved shirts and a sun-hat were all that were needed to comply with local requirements. This year we had been warned of the possible danger of the Taliban in the Swat area (the North West Frontier Province is not all that far from the Afghan border) and we didn't want to get shot at. In our red jeep no-one could mistake us for anything but tourists, but our respect for Muslim sensitivities held us in good stead wherever we went. I was born into a Christian community, but travel and old age have given me a respect for other religions, of whatever kind. There were frequent stops at police checks, our Guide having a wadge of photo-copies of our passport and Visa numbers, date of birth, mother's maiden name etc. etc. We stopped for lunch at a cafe where the two great rivers meet. Immediately I remembered this place form 1993 when I was on a Textile study tour. We ate chicken leg and rice, both times. The road narrowed and became more bumpy as we entered the Swat valley. At one police check an armed guard climbed into the back with the others (I was sitting in front) but as soon as we reached Mingora, he left us. Here we stayed at a very nice new Hotel. We were the only guests in the hotel and had half a dozen to wait on us at table. A comfy bed, hot shower, what more could one want. We were up early after a breakfast of porridge, toast and scrambled egg, very civilised. Our journey took us across valleys and river bridges, until we came to the little town of Dir, full of market stalls and much commotion. Lunch at a cafe, chicken again, gave us the opportunity to climb to the flat roof to take photos. I was very wary here of taking pictures of the men-only community in case I caused offence. We were making for the Lowari pass, over 9,000 feet (3,200 metres) up the mountain, a very rough road. We were accompanied by a police vehicle, guarding us from behind. However, they left us at the top of the pass, and went back to Dir. My son said - It will not take so long to go down the other side, it is steeper with many hair-pin bends, but shorter and we will soon be in our hotel at Chitral. He could not have been more wrong..... Wait till tomorrow to find out why. Angela Thompson [EMAIL PROTECTED] To unsubscribe send email to [EMAIL PROTECTED] containing the line: unsubscribe lace-chat [EMAIL PROTECTED]
