A short swim in the Hindu Kush

So Phander…. A small village in the Hindu Kush, five hours from Gilgit, seven from Chitral, and very close to the world’s highest polo ground, Shandaur. What does a village in the Hindu Kush look like, I hear you ask. Well, when I first saw Phander we drove over some terminal moraine and looked down on this large valley which was green with poplar trees and gold with the crops ready for harvesting. The mountains were huge and barren, some were just appearing out of mist and others were bright with sun. The river was a most amazing turquoise colour. And to cap it all there was a rainbow stretching over the whole valley. Talk about a little bit of heaven.

The Phander valley:

The first evening there we met some people who had worked in Mansehra and who were now working at the MIED girls college. They offered to take us on a 20 minute walk, so three hours later we were looking down in the pitch black at the twinkling lights of the village below miles away. OK, so I exaggerate slightly – it was actually a really fantastic walk. Part the way through I was silly enough to ask how people actually walk up the side of the mountains when they consist of scree and are almost vertical.

So one of the guys born and bred in the Karakoram offered to show me how – twas exceptionally scary just going up off the path a little bit and walking on such a steep slope, the Scottish Highlands seemed tame in comparison. I was literally crawling crabwise (slightly inelegant but survival seemed more important).

I survived, and we walked up to a small peak above the village. It was a really bare landscape – people were telling me seriously about witches and things, and I was scoffing, but I can understand how such legends develop in such a vast, inhospitable landscape, particularly because we were out there after dark. So we got to the peak just as the sun was setting, which was beautiful. I was slightly concerned with getting back down again though, looking down at all the vertical slopes below me. But we got back to recognisable footpaths before complete blackness, and thereafter we had to go very carefully down narrow lanes and through fields of crops. To pass the time the guys, who were from different parts of the Northern Areas, were teaching me the word ‘donkey’ in their mother tongues – Khowar, Waqqui, Shina and Burusheski (there were quite a few donkeys around, I don’t think it was a personal reflection).

Walking through the village the next morning was really interesting – there were many women and only a very few men at work in the fields doing the harvesting by hand with scythes. We went to a local NGO where the community are thinking about setting up a second girls college in a nearby village. My co-worker had told me the previous night that we were expected to run a session building the capacity of the Education Committee. The thought of helping to run a session where the participants spoke in Khowar, then having to translate to Urdu and then into English made my blood run cold, so I sat quietly at the back. It was interesting though, especially seeing how enthusiastic the community members were to start their own girls college.

One of my gallant protectors had organised lunch for us at his sister’s house, which was a traditional house over a hundred years old. As a woman, I was able to meet the women of the house, whereas the men had to stay in the guest room. The heart of the house was one large room used as a kitchen, living room, prayer room and bedroom. There were beautiful wood carvings on the wooden pillars, and the roof was very intricately designed. There were seven pillars in the house to represent seven key figures in Islam. There was just one wood stove where the woman did all the cooking.

I just could not believe it when they bought out rice, chappattis, two meat dishes and a vegetable dish for about ten people. How it was possible on one stove I do not know, and it all tasted delicious, particularly as it was cooked over wood. The women of the house did not appear at all though – it was the younger men who bought us the food and served us, and none of the family ate with us except the father. The family eat after the guests.

After that, as Phander is famous for fishing, one of my travelling companions got hold of a rod, so we went down to the river. Both my protectors had assured me before that they were well practiced with fishing, so I was expecting a good haul. Hmm, half an hour later they were saying that the rod was a big problem. I had a go as well, but with no more success, so then I became more interested in paddling in the freezing cold water. I had more or less decided against swimming as it was so cold, but then I slipped on some mud. It was rather embarrassing – all the women doing washing on the other side of the bank and the kids were laughing at me, but then I showed them the true grit of the Brits and actually swam (in full shalwaar kameez). It was flipping freezing, so I didn’t last long, and then ran back to the hotel with a see-through duppatta draped delicately around my sopping wet shalwaar kameez. Back at the hotel, facing a shower where the water seemed to come straight from the glacier, I did have a moment of homesickness, but that was only transitory.

The next instalment will be coming shortly…