By Bilal Aziz –

It was on the eight-hour journey from the dusty roads of Wah Cantt to the gravel path of Naran, a town in Kaghan Valley, Pakistan, where I got a sense of what it was like to be a Pakistani. As a British citizen, I never got to connect with my roots apart from fleeting visits to my grandparent’s village. It was in that village where I understood the simplicity behind the art of hard work. But, as I ventured out that village on my journey towards Naran’s valleys, I experienced the beautiful complexities that are never explored or spoken about in the mainstream media.

I was sat on a minibus that was hired by my uncle with 15 other family members on our way to Naran for a two-day trip. I was taken aback by how much the scenery shifted throughout the course of the journey. At times we would pass through complete nothingness and others we would seamlessly weave in and out of the traffic of a city that was full to the brim of industrious street vendors desperately banging on car windows as a ploy to drum up business. We drove through Abbottabad, the city where Osama bin Laden was hiding and later, killed. It was interesting to feel how insignificant the man was in a proud city that was full of mansions that were dotted carefully around its underdeveloped basic infrastructure.

Naran

Located in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province of Pakistan, Naran is known for the atmosphere that summer brings to the town. The feeling of a cool, serene breeze battling against the rawness of a morning sun. The crowds of people gathering to indulge in Pakistan’s beauty. Summer was the perfect time for this vacation.

As we pulled into Naran, the sun had already set, and darkness consumed our surroundings. The obvious lack of streetlights was a bit of a worry. Places that are foreign to you are always naturally intimidating, even in the blinding sun. We decided to settle on the first “hotel” we laid eyes on and rested for the night. I put hotel in inverted commas because it would not even register as one star. It didn’t even have a name, it merely had a little sign that indicated that it was a hotel.

Built up of unpainted bricks and rooms that had four walls covered in unidentifiable stains, the hotel was not the level of luxury I am accustomed to in Dubai. The awkward room had two beds shoved into each corner, a creaky toilet with a faulty flush, carpet that looked like it had been hacked at by a recently sharpened machete and a tiny cracked mirror carelessly nailed to the wall that explained the bad luck behind the absence of electricity in the whole hotel. However, the staff seemed to consider the absolute state of it all and compensated for the alarming lack of quality with slick service that even Burj Al Arab cannot muster.

And so, we woke up with the endless complaints still fresh in our minds but also with the eagerness to explore the heights and depths of Naran.

The first thing that struck me about the town in broad daylight was the extreme contrast it had with every other place I had been exposed to in the country. It’s funny how the sight of a steep mountain fills you with a sense of security and inspiration where the heights of it screams immediate danger. As a poet, my first instinct was to write down the descriptive words I felt in the moment, but I instantly made sure my hands were empty so I could absorb the vividness of what was around me.

Lake Saiful Muluk

To explore Naran, you must throw yourself into the deep end. It’s a place where you become an accidental adventure fiend and certainly mistaken for an adrenaline junkie. There are no secure roads in the town. Transport within the area is to be done in roofless Jeeps. In these Jeeps is where I became familiar with the spirit of Pakistanis. We were jolted from side to side as the Jeeps tightly hugged the corners of the mountains we were ascending, where a wheel would venture off the edge and drift back inside as it turned back into the path.

We only had one day to explore the best of Kaghan Valley, so we were advised to start our adventure at Saiful Muluk. It is situated at a bottom of two sloping mountains that have eroded over time where melted glaciers led to a collection of water. The picturesque surroundings were aided by the misty clouds hovering above the green-tinted water as the moss collected on the mountains reflect on the surface. It has been said people have disappeared by swimming in the water, so we booked a shaky boat, as you do in Pakistan, and heard the whispers of the lake with every metre we covered. I trekked around the surrounding area where rocks formed artistic interpretations of what I believed were metaphors for the people of Pakistan. A little rough around around the edges but with solid foundations that add to the overall picture of under appreciated and underrepresented beauty.

Lalazar

We then jumped back in the jeeps and were on our way 15 kilometres up the mountain towards Lalazar. The ride to the infamous tourist spot was hilarious. They didn’t even bother to build a proper path towards the area. We had to literally drive up a one-way mountain. Rocks and all. But it was worth it. The stunning view is reminiscent of an over the top Bollywood music video where the hero awaits his lover amongst insane greenery alongside a backdrop of endless mountains. There wasn’t much to do but sit down at the pop-up café, taking in the breath-taking scenery and enjoy some local tea made by a joyous man who made it his duty to interact with every customer in some way or the other, displaying the undying hospitality that Pakistanis pride themselves on.

Babusar Top

Our final stop was Babusar Top. Known to be the most dangerous route that connects Khyber Pakhtunkhwa to Gilgit Baltistan. We were 30,000 feet above sea level. Every year many deaths happen here due to the mountainous slopes, which are among the most dangerous in the world. Thankfully we got through without any hiccups. It was freezing cold up there, a thin hooded jumper or a cotton jacket did not cut it.

The mountain top gave me a moment to take a seat and register what we just experienced on the day. In the modern age, on a holiday that involves purely scenery, you are so engrossed in capturing your memories on a camera, your eyes do not get a chance to grasp the beauty on display. I was lucky I didn’t get signal on my phone up on Babusar Top. I just wondered why Pakistan was associated with things that did not involve the euphoric feeling of appreciating the nature it safeguards.

It is easy to lose yourself in the visual beauty of an escapist vacation. As the world changes around you, your safe-bet for harmony is the everlasting feeling of positivity that nature brings human beings. The liberation of hearing the wind effortlessly cut through the chilling silence 30,000 feet above sea level. The echoes of a singular splash of water as a green jay deftly brushes past a shimmering lake as it makes its way back home. The sizzle of coal on a makeshift barbeque as smoke fills the cold air with a warmth that soothes the souls of hungered tourists. When you hear of vivid descriptions like this, you would be inclined to think I was regurgitating what people have said about some random terranean part of Europe. But this is Pakistan, a country that is not without its obvious issues, where nature is king and its saving grace.