I remember, in my early teens, hearing a song by US punk band, The Dead Kennedys, entitled “A Holiday in Cambodia”. The song was released in 1980, by which time Cambodia had already been ravaged for over ten years by civil war and genocide. Of course, back then nobody in their right mind would have considered taking a vacation in Cambodia. The Dead Kennedys single was a satirical swipe at the complacency of the youth of the US, and a condemnation of the despotism of the Khmer Rouge. Fast forward a few decades, however, and Cambodia has become one of the world's most popular tourist destinations.
Today, foreign tourists are about as likely to visit Pakistan as they were to visit Cambodia thirty years ago. If you ask someone who has never visited Pakistan what they think the place is like, they will probably tell you that it is a teeming hotbed of terrorism, extremism and anti-Western sentiment, where you are about as likely to be kidnapped and beheaded as you are to find a restaurant that serves a good steak.
A combination of a steadily deteriorating security situation, extremely bad press coverage and increasingly alarmist government travel warnings, has meant that only the most hardcore of travelers will even consider visiting Pakistan.
But it wasn't always this way. Back in the 1990s, Pakistan was home to a burgeoning tourism sector, with trekkers, mountain climbers, paraglider pilots and polo fans flocking in their thousands to Pakistan's spectacular Northern Areas.
Northern Pakistan, sitting atop a geopolitical and geographic fault line, is a very special place, where three major mountain ranges – the Hindu-Kush, the Karakorum and the Himalayas – meet, and where small mountain principalities, like Chitral and Hunza, have for hundreds of years navigated their way through the ebb and flow of the world's empires as they played out the “Great Game” along Pakistan's untamed frontier.
However, the 9/11 attacks on New York and Washington, which were carried out not by Pakistanis or by Afghans, but by Arab hijackers, decimated Pakistan's tourism sector, sending foreign visitor numbers through the floor and putting many tour companies out of business. Those companies which have remained in business have faced an uphill struggle to convince foreign tourists that Pakistan is a safe and worthwhile place to visit.
Unfortunately, the May 2nd raid by US Special Forces on a compound in the garrison town of Abbottabad, in which the alleged mastermind of the 9/11 attacks, Osama Bin Laden, was reportedly killed, could mark the death knell of Pakistan's tourism industry. Many tourists who were planning to visit Northern Pakistan have cancelled due to fears of reprisals against foreigners. I myself had been planning a visit to the Northern Areas for several months, and while I was a little apprehensive about traveling north so soon after Bin Laden's death, I was assured by friends in the area that it was safe to visit.
My plan was to attend the Joshi festival, a spring festival celebrated by members of the Kalash tribe who reside in the remote Kalash valleys of Chitral district. The Kalash are a distinct ethnic group who are believed by some to be the direct descendants of the troops of Alexander the Great. The cultural and religious practices of the Kalash are unique in Pakistan. They sacrifice animals on ceremonial alters and erect totem poles in ceremonial grounds on the upper valley slopes. They make their own alcohol, mostly from apricots, and the women wear distinct costumes consisting of black dresses decorated with day-glow floral and ethnic patterns and sea-shells, and long, colourful headdresses adorned with shells, coins and brightly coloured feathers. Ever since my first visit to Pakistan, I had wanted to experience a Kalash festival first hand.
My trip began in Islamabad, from where I caught a domestic flight to Chitral. I had been planning to travel by road, but the route would have taken me through Malakand Division of Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province, where ongoing military operations are taking place, and reliable sources had indicated that it would be better to avoid traveling through the area by road, if possible.
As a foreigner, once I reached Chitral, I had to register at the “Foreigner Registration Office” next to the local police station. While waiting to be registered, I read the charts on the wall detailing the numbers and nationalities of foreign tourists over the past decade or so. The figures spoke for themselves, with several thousand visitors registered in 2000 and 2001, dropping to a couple of hundred in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.
Unfortunately, in the past year, the police have begun to insist that foreign visitors to Chitral be accompanied at all times by an armed policeman. I was traveling with a group of friends, including another foreigner, so we were assigned two armed guards, who accompanied us around the city. Initially, the presence of armed police was disconcerting, but after a while I got used to it, and my guard turned out to be a pretty good guide, taking us to see a horseback polo match between two local teams.
The following day we headed for the Kalash valley of Rumboor, reluctantly accepting a police escort. I had been to the Kalash Valleys a number of times previously, without an escort. The area has always been considered safe for tourists, and is still safe enough, but the Chitral police force has decided to leave nothing to chance, and for this festival, the police presence was somewhat over-bearing.
Visiting Rumboor is like traveling into the distant, pre-historic past. At the time of my visit, there was no electricity in the valley, since the hydro-electric turbines were badly damaged in last year's floods, and at the time of writing, there are no landlines, let alone mobile phone services, in the valley. The Kalash people live almost entirely off the land, herding goats, growing wheat and harvesting an abundance of fruits and nuts. Upon arrival we were directed to a home-stay, run by a local teacher, named Engineer Khan, and his family. The accommodation was basic, but comfortable, and the hospitality of the host family was exceptional.
On the first day of the festival, we climbed a steep stairway, up to the ceremonial ground, where the locals had gathered to celebrate the arrival of spring. We watched as groups of brightly dressed women, arms linked, danced in circles around the male drummers who beat out an entrancing rhythm on their goatskin drums. The atmosphere was somewhat tempered by the large police presence, but both the locals and the tourists kept their spirits high, aided by the local apricot moonshine known as 'Tara'.We were told that this was just a warm-up, and sure enough, the following day's festivities were even more euphoric and more intense.
As the sun began its descent in the late afternoon of the second day, the Kalash men climbed further up the valley, to the sacrificial alter overlooking the ceremonial grounds. Local shamans prayed around a juniper fire, and chunks of goats' cheese were distributed from goatskins, to be eaten with wholewheat bread as a collective ceremonial meal. The Kalash people have somewhat of a siege mentality when it comes to their non-Kalash Pakistani cousins, so only non-Muslim men are allowed to participate in this part of the ceremony.
Shortly afterwards, we returned to the ceremonial ground, but as the festivities were about to reach a climax, we were told that only Kalash people could be present from that point on. We were directed to leave and to climb on top of a building overlooking the grounds. However, we were obviously not far enough away, and to drive their point home, some of the Kalash men began to fling rocks at the onlookers, sending both armed police and tourists scattering for cover. Once the final ceremony was completed, we joined the revelers on the descent back to the valley.
All in all, the festival was magical and euphoric, and our enjoyment of this unique event far outweighed the inconvenience of being surrounded by dozens of mostly courteous, but sometimes menacing armed police.
The following morning we made our way back to Chitral city, where my friend and tour guide, Ehshan, arranged a night of traditional Chitrali music and dance, to offset our negative experiences with the police. We were guests of honour, and after around half a dozen dance performances by our local hosts, it was our turn to dance. Thankfully, we had imbibed sufficient amounts of moonshine to dampen our inhibitions, and if the reaction of our hosts, including our police escorts, was anything to go by, our enthusiastic (if jerky and poorly coordinated) attempts at dancing, exceeded their expectations.
I would highly recommend a trip to Chitral to anyone with even the slightest sense of adventure. This destination has so much to offer, and I can guarantee you that the hospitality of the Chitrali and Kalash people, combined with the rich cultural experiences the area has to offer, will keep you coming back for more. I only hope that, like Cambodia, peace will come with the passage of time, allowing the revival of the area's flagging tourist industry and putting this unique location back on the path to prosperity.





