He asked what was the purpose of our visit, when Tim told him his face really lit up. "You must come to my house for dinner tomorrow," he insisted and we gratefully accepted. He lived on the outskirts of town and he insisted that his driver would drop us off at our hotel after first dropping him off at his home. He bid us farewell, told us his driver would pick us up the next day and his wife would cook a wonderful meal for us. I was glad we had finally arrived in Chitral, twenty seven hours after leaving Peshawar and perhaps a little worse for wear.
Next time...Relaxing before the trek into the mountains
The pass was incredibly steep, the bus struggled to make headway, the engine groaning as it slowly gained height, the pass above us twisting and turning, hardly a road at all. Just how the bus stayed upright at times I'll never know, occasionally the drivers mate had to jump off to removed boulders that were blocking out tortuously slow progress, I was certainly pleased we had not crossed the pass during the night. Every ow and again another vehicle would approach from the opposite direction, usually the ubiquitous old Bedford truck, highly decorated, complete with some sort of wooden superstructure built over the cab. To see these trucks heavily laden struggling over this impossibly steep and rocky mountain terrain was quite a sight. Suddenly the bus ground to a halt by the side of the road and most of the passengers got out. We were at the to of the Lowari Pass. A sign by the side of the rd read, "Lowari Pass Summit 10500ft." It was an amazing sight, mountain ranges stretched out in every direction, the air was sharp and fresh, so different from the oppressive clinging air we had left behind in the lowlands, my spirit was lifting and I was looking forward to reaching Chitral soon. Back into the bus and we started our perilous journey down the other side of the Pass. The bus swayed and lurched, people looked really concerned, the woman behind me was praying out loudly and each time the bus lurched violently, she cried out. It was certainly scary stuff, the drop off to the side was hundreds of feet and the wreckage of crashed vehicles littered the valley bottom below us. Death by bus crash is very common in these parts someone had told me a few days earlier, and I could certainly see why. After mile upon mile of tortuous switchbacks the road began to straighten out and be managed to exceed 5mph for the first time in hours. Unfortunately this didn't last long, I heard a strange noise coming from the rear of the bus, looked out of the window and could see to my horror the back tyre was completely flat, something the driver seen totally oblivious of. In fact I was the only one aware of the situation, there was still quite a drop and a few more bends to negotiate, I jumped out of my seat and shouted out to our driver to stop the bus. Later on Tim told me it was at this point when he thought I'd just lost it and finally cracked up. Anyway, there we were, still over an hours drive from Chitral, puncture number two and no spare tyre. We decided to leave the bus and started waling down the Pass. It was stiflingly hot and we sat down under an overhanging rock to find some shade. Our driver had stopped a passing truck to take him into Chitral to repair the tyre, it was obvious he was going to be quite some time and we had no intention of waiting around for him to return. We decided to stop the next vehicle that passed to take us on to Chitral, we didn't have to wait long. The first vehicle that turned up was a small jeep, the driver saw Tims outstretched thumb and dutifully screeched to a stop. "Hello, welcome, climb aboard," the passenger said with a huge smile on his face. It turned out he was the local judge from Chitral and he was on his way back from sitting on a case in Swat. At last we were really moving, his driver, a young man obviously very proud of his important job was really going for it, horn blaring at every bend and at any sight of another road user. "Before we met you, I told him to get a move on, I am anxious to get home," the judge explained, seeing the looks of alarm on our faces as his driver motored along at breakneck speed. He talked non stop, happy to have the unexpected company of three Westerners.
A very sad day indeed Vinny, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when this terrible tragedy unfurled.
I truly hope those responsible for not only allowing it to happen, but those who were involved in the cover up are named, shamed and maybe dealt with, if only for the sake of those family members who have been suffering ever since.
I will try, but this is only a week into a five week journey...missing out my time in Rawalpindi for the first few days. I have pages and pages from this trip and it gets even more bizarre
We found out later that the reason for the 'ambush' was that the people in Dir were pretty pissed off with Afghani drivers taking people from Peshawar direct to Chitral instead of dropping them in Dir to take a local bus on to Chitral. This was their way of showing their displeasure.
Our driver was hauled off the bus and carted away, he really was having a rough time on this journey and I wondered if we would ever see him again. Much to my relief, and all of the passengers, he returned after a few minutes looking just a bit shaken, got behind the wheel and turned the bus around. I had no idea what was going on, Tim and Dave looked equally bemused, but at least we still had a driver. We headed back towards Dir, back through the town and parked up on a hillside just on the outskirts. The driver and many of the passengers, in fact it was only the men, got off the bus and spread blankets out on the ground and went to sleep. There was nothing I could do other than try to get some sleep myself. After an hour or so of drifting in and out of sleep I heard the engine starting up and we were back on our way. The bus set off, back through the town and towards the pass, I still felt uneasy but hopeful we would get away from this unwelcoming place. But no, they were still there, the same performance, our driver gets accosted once more, once more he returns, we head back down the pass, through the town and back to the same spot and the blankets come out again. This time the stay was a bit shorter, at first light everyone returned to the bus and we headed back to the pass, I felt quite apprehensive. However, my concerns were short lived, we reached the foot of the pass and there was no sign of the roadblock or the angry young men, the road to Chitral was ours.
Next time...over the Lowari and into Chitral...with a twist.
Reading my diary, which has been stashed away for a while now and writing this down has taken me right back there, even though it was almost twenty years ago.
I wasn't referring to any thread in particular T, it's just that it's all got a bit 'tetchy' in here today. Writing from my diary and kind of reliving my experiences for half an hour or so was quite uplifting...you should maybe read it and try to guess what happened next.
I wasn't long before darkness had drawn in and I was wondering just how safe it would be to cross the high mountain pass at night in this old worn out bus in such an overloaded state. I just put the thought out of my head and tried to get comfortable in the small bit of space that wasn't taken up by all manner of items around me. I couldn't straighten my legs out, under my feet was a large box of dehydrated milk so my knees were constantly bent. The back of my seat was lose, if I leant back it just collapsed, I was feeling quite miserable. We passed through small villages that resembled shanty towns, a bit like wild west cowboy towns I was thinking. After an hour or so we stopped at a roadside tea house for chapatti, dhal and tea, it was good to stretch my legs. We sat on the ground by a small fire and were served tea, I could smell the fresh mountain air when the smoke from the juniper wood fire drifted away from me. There was a small group of men sat close by talking and laughing. I noticed how different they were from the people of the lowland plains we had left behind. They were more Afghani looking with piercing stares, proud people, warlike, with a history of constant fighting for their land, as indeed they had been until very recently against the Russians just over the border in Afghanistan. Our stay was short and we boarded the bus to resume our journey. After about thirty minutes the bus pulled to a stop by the side of the road. The driver and a few passengers got off the bus and seemed to be concerned about something towards the rear of the bus. Tim and Dave were both asleep, something I had not been able to achieve, I waited for a while then decided to grab my headtorch and see what was going on. We had in fact got a puncture and to my horror, the drivers mate was under the back axle with a tiny jack attempting to lift the bus, passengers, chickens, and luggage in almost total darkness. I passed him my headtorch, he grinned, thanked me and got on with furiously cranking away with the handle of the totally unsuitable lifting device. After about thirty minutes the wheel was changed and we were on our way. I tried to sleep but found it impossible. With the carton of milk under my feet keeping my legs bent and the floppy back of my seat not allowing me to lean back, not to mention the fact that I couldn't rest my head against the window because there wasn't one, just a huge space where the glass should have been, sleep was not very likely. Fortunately I was finding the journey interesting enough, even in the dark to just sit and take it all in. We would soon be reaching the last village before the Lowari Pass, Dir. Dir by all accounts was a wild lawless place and we had been advised to avoid it, especially at night. I was thinking how fortunate we had been to get a bus that traveled direct from Peshawar to Chitral. Almost all the buses stopped at Dir and a bus then had to be taken from Dir to Chitral, I was pleased we would miss out Dir entirely. The bus passed slowly through the deserted and unwelcome looking town without any incident and I felt a little better. About half an hours drive from the town we reached the foot of the Lowari Pass an began the long climb. We had hardly traveled a mile or so when some lights appeared in front of us, it was another road block, but this time it wasn't manned by soldiers. The bus ground to a halt and we were boarded by a very angry group of young men screaming and shouting mainly at our driver, but making it clear to all of us they meant business. I felt quite uneasy about the situation and tried to blend in and not to look too English!!!
bodleing Forum Posts (13,810)
Me Dave and Tim...on the road to Mastuj in the high mountains of the Hindu Kush.
RE: Adventure writing
Thanks Ros, it's good to know at least one person is reading it.