It was obvious from the amount of running water cascading down as waterfalls and forming in vast puddles on the dirt-track road that there had been a severe storm during the night. We were about to descend the ladder of hair-pin bends cut into the mountain side. If there were 20 rungs of the ladder, then there were forty bends for the jeep to negotiate, each one a slithery mess of red mud. There was no choice but to put our faith in the driver, who negotiated each bend with nonchalant ease. As we descended, the same view kept coming up from below, with regular monotony. It needs careful timing to photograph the layers of road below, getting it just right on the outward swing. I am pleased to say that mine all came out right.
We were not even halfway down when we came to a sudden halt, to join a line of vehicles stretching down to the next bend. Below, I could see another queue of traffic waiting to come up. The reason was soon obvious. One of the decorated trucks (a tradition in the part of the world, like barge painting in England) was stuck right across the outer curve of the hair-pin bend, the pointed front teetering over the brink of the precipice in a decidedly dangerous fashion. By now it had started to rain in earnest and our Guide climbed out to discover what had happened, plodding through the mud in his sandals. Gradually all the men drivers got out to see what was happening. There were dozens of them. The driver and the porter also got out and so did my son. I stayed in the jeep, and waited. And waited, and waited. If they could not move the truck, no-one would get off the mountain that night. Someone had the bright idea of unloading the truck. It was overloaded with 50 kilogram (over 100 pounds) sacks of rice, sugar, flour etc, each type in a different colour. The men carried them down to the roadside and laid them onto a piece of polythene. Fit men ran with the sacks on their backs, slithering through the mud. Older men creep gingerly, bent double with the load. Then they tried to haul the truck out, and nearly succeeded before it tipped slowly onto its side, luckily not crushing anyone underneath. Meanwhile I was getting colder and colder as darkness crept on, my Salwar Kameeze being thin cotton. So I put on my fleece and then my anorak. Finally it was decided to abandon the jeep, unload our luggage, climb down the steep slope and get into another jeep on the lower level. All I can say is thank God I had had the sense to take my trekking pole out of my luggage before I was helped down the slippery slope in the dark. Our new jeep was driven by an old man, only too happy to chat to our Guide, gesticulating with one hand whilst driving with the other round the interminable hair-pin bends. My son assured me he had not had this trouble two years ago, which was not much consolation. Finally we arrived at our hotel in Chitral at 11.15 at night after a ten hour journey including four hours on the mountainside. They were very worried, expecting us at 7pm. No-one has mobile phones, or satellite phones, they cannot afford them. They insisted on cooking us a meal which we ate after midnight. It was supposed to be Chinese, chicken with ginger, but cooked Pakistani fashion took an hour to prepare. Never have I been so pleased to get into a bed and go fast asleep. Tomorrow is a far better day. Angela Thompson Worcestershire UK [EMAIL PROTECTED] To unsubscribe send email to [EMAIL PROTECTED] containing the line: unsubscribe lace-chat [EMAIL PROTECTED]
