It took a day and a half to drive down the mountain to Gilgit. Mr Bullbull had visited his family on the way, no wonder he was used to the altitude. Our second night was spent at a Guest House by a lake. For a welcome change we had fish for supper. They were quite tasty, but small and full of bones. As the Jeep lurched round the interminable corners of the hair-pin bends, I couldn't help wondering if Michael Palin had taken the easy way out by plane. After we left, we were told that he was visiting the Kalash valleys with the BBC, making a film. If so, I shall view it with interest.
I liked Gilgit. These northern towns are not in the least sophisticated, with many of the shops open-type booths. However, we did visit a bookshop and a real tourist shop, run by the Guide's uncle, where I bought some embroideries. The Hotel was new, once again we were the only foreign tourists except for a Chinese man. Gilgit was the home of our Guide and we were invited to his home for supper. I wore my third and last, new, clean Salwar Kameze. I did not know how to wear the veil, so draped it round my head. We met the father, briefly and were ushered into a house that was very nicely appointed inside, took off our shoes and were introduced to an aunt and a sister. Although the aunt wore a veil over her head, the sister was dressed in a lovely pale blue silk Kameze with the veil draped across the front of her shoulders, a very pretty fashion. So I gradually let mine slip off my head. The room was decorated with many cross-stitch embroideries, mostly showing roses, but a huge one made by the mother (who was up north visiting another daughter) was of some sort of deer or antelope, with acres of brown stitchery. Knowing I was interested in the embroidery, they brought out a large bag full of cloths and cushion covers, mainly decorated with roses. Others were of the geometric patterned Hunza embroidery, also in cross stitch. Half way through, there was a power cut, so we had to see by bottled-gas lamp. The aunt and sister had cooked us a very nice meal. We were joined by Mr Bullbull and our new driver. I was accorded the honour of eating with the men, while the aunt and sister withdrew. (Now, before you all sent postings protesting at this custom, let me say that it is common in many societies around the world, and that in my own childhood, I had an aunt whose husband ate alone, while she and her two daughters always fed in the kitchen.) The sister spoke excellent English and we were then introduced to a younger one, a schoolgirl. The aunt spoke no English, but that did not stop us communicating. I had brought a small photo album of my family, which was much appreciated. She kissed my hands repeatedly when we left and my cheeks as well for good measure. Next, up the Karakorum Highway to Karimabad in Hunza country Angela Thompson [EMAIL PROTECTED] To unsubscribe send email to [EMAIL PROTECTED] containing the line: unsubscribe lace-chat [EMAIL PROTECTED]
