Portugal - Surf Camp

The last few months have felt strange. I’ve felt slightly less attached to my life than usual. Work has been quiet, the long distance aspect of my relationship wore on and became remarkably less enjoyable (and it was never particularly enjoyable). I looked over my life with glassy eyes and although I wanted nothing more than to wake up and burst back into life, I was lethargic and unmotivated. I knew that my upcoming surf trip would do the trick but I was also slightly dreading it. The physical effort of surfing, the cold sea and putting on a wet wetsuit day after day. The early mornings and the achey shoulders. Being away from Coen after he had finally arrived in London.

The trip got off to a terrible start. I was unbelievably hungover after attending Jess’ wedding when my 5:45am alarm went off. I met Christine outside of our hotel in Sleaford (somewhere in the midlands) and we got into our taxi ready to go to Humberside airport (somewhere else in the midlands). I met Christine in India last year, at the yoga teacher training. She was one of my roommates and Jess (whose wedding we attended) was the other. When we received our wedding invites, Christine suggested that as she was flying over from California, we should make a bit of a trip out of it. Christine is a yoga teacher and a nurse, but first and foremost she is a surfer. And so a surf trip to Portugal was organised and I sat back and let Christine decide the details. She studied the historic surf forecasts for various regions and I agreed with any decision she made. We landed on doing a surf camp for ease (and I definitely could use further lessons and guidance) - La Point at Alentejo. But back to our journey there - we arrived at the airport with the recommended 2 hours to spare and realised it was the smallest airport in the world and arriving with 30 minutes to spare would still have left too much time. There was only one flight in and out of the airport all day, and the airport seemed to exclusively fly to Amsterdam. Despite going to Portugal, we were indeed flying to Amsterdam first before switching to a second flight. The hours moved by and it was almost time to board when a tannoy announced to passengers for flight KL972 (so unnecessary to specify the flight when there is only one flight) that we may have noticed that there was no plane for us to board. The incoming flight was stuck circling the airport due to the high winds and, despite taking several attempts, had so far been unable to land. The pilot would try one more time and then they would update us. Joyfully, the plane landed and we boarded (late) only to be told that actually it was also too windy to take off and so we were to un-board and wait for a few hours for the wind to (hopefully) drop. In the meantime, our connecting flight departed Amsterdam without us. Eventually, after a frought few hours of wondering if we would ever make it out of Humberside airport and, if we did, would we then be stuck on Amsterdam (with me putting Coen’s mum (who lived in Amsterdam) on standby in case this did happen), we took off and caught a (much later) connecting flight to Lisbon. We had, of course, missed the surf camp transfer so we had to get an uber for the 2 hour drive south to Alentejo. We arrived at 1:30am and silently snuck into the villa and into our dorm beds. As a reminder, we left our hotel at 6:30am and were both incredibly hungover. The joys of travel.

The horrendous journey was quickly forgotten after a good night’s sleep, a delicious breakfast and coffee, and the view of the oasis that was the villa. Set amongst fields, the only neighbours being three donkeys, one of which was a fluffy baby, with a pool, a volleyball court, and cushy seating wherever you looked. Bliss. It was a small camp, there were only 13 of us. Christine had two other friends here, who had also flown over from California and were equally big surfers.

Each day we had a surf session with our respective instructors and in our respective groups (I was in level 2 (not quite a beginner surfer anymore), and there were 4 of us in this group). Our instructor was Sirca, a german girl who was as blunt and straight forward as you’d imagine from a german, but also incredibly funny. She was an amazing coach and I improved a huge amount over the week. After our session we would return to the villa to chill or do some lightly suggested activities such as volleyball (I usually opted to chill) before either chilling some more or heading back out for a second ‘free’ surf, meaning without the instructors where we would just surf alone.

The camp also arranged for two delicious meals out at local restaurants, and a wine tour at a local vineyard. All wonderful. Some comedic - for the vineyard tour our group comprised of people from our surf camp and americans on a writer’s retreat. They were very american (read: large and slightly obnoxious in a harmless way). We all had to stifle our laughs when, as the guide gave us tomatoes grown on the vineyard to pair with our wine, one of the american ladies loudly asked “do you know where tomatoes come from?”. The guide, confused, answered “the tomatoes come from Portugal”. The woman pushed on “no, tomatoes come from America”. The guide didn’t understand that she meant the origin of tomatoes in general (understandably, as why is this relevant to anyone in this moment) and again looked confused and explained “no, these tomatoes come from the garden” before moving on with the tasting.

The weather was perfect, bright sun every day, cold evenings where my thick socks and fleece paid off. The surf was phenomenal - ideal waves every day, the size varied from bordering on scary to bordering on too small which was all good practice. The sea was cold but clear.

I found a sense of calm out at sea, sat on my board with the sun warming my face. I found my motivation with every wave, locking in to paddle harder, pop up better and faster, and start to turn on the waves. I found true rest in the afternoons sat by the pool with my book and a heavy body. I slept early and wonderfully. The glassiness and lethargy was gone. I was awake at last.

On a more practical note - if you are considering a surf camp I would highly recommend La Point Alentejo. Especially if you want a more chilled vibe with people who are mostly in their late 20s/early 30s, as opposed to a party vibe with a younger crowd. Especially if you are serious about improving your surfing but also want some time to rest. Especially if you want to surf some quiet waves (we were often the only people surfing the break).

Portugal - Lisbon

After the week at the surf camp I travelled with the Californian girls to Lisbon. They were driving on to Ericeira for a night before then returning to Lisbon, but I had decided to just stay in Lisbon for my last few days. Lisbon had been the top of my European city list for a while so I wanted to give it all the time I could, and I also wanted to solo travel for a few days. A part from my one (unhappy) day solo in Turin, I hadn’t solo travelled since April. I ached for it (or maybe that was just from all the surfing…).

The girls dropped me off in Belem, where we all tried a pasta de nata from the bakery which invented them, and also from the bakery next door to compare. We also strolled around the little market which was in the opposite park. And then it was time to go solo! Belem is in the far west of Lisbon and my hotel was in the far east (in Alfama, the oldest part of the city). As I was only travelling with a backpack I decided to take this opportunity to do all the things I wanted to do in the west of the city as I slowly made my way east. First stop was the LX Factory, an old factory turned art/culture hub. There was another market here which, along with the permanent stores, featured independent fashion labels, independent homeware stores and many a ‘concept’ store. A little touristy but in a nice way, and I bought a shirt and drank a tiny beer happily. I mooched, took a photo for two enthusiastic/drunk british girls who proceeded to invite me to join them in their tuktuk adventure around the city. I politely declined and continued my solo journey east. Next stop was a food market, Mercado de Campo de Ourique, for a late lunch. I had read that this market was the local alternative to the touristy Time Out market in the center. I wasn’t too impressed. It was just a few food stalls and some seating in the middle. Tiny compared to any of the food markets in London and it seemed fairly expensive. Nothing took my fancy so I went looking for other options and ended up having a traditional francesinha (a sandwich completely smothered - and I mean completely smothered, you could not see that it was a sandwich and I only realised what it was after googling the dish - in a rich sauce) in a busy little spot round the corner. There was a highly rated gelataria next door so it would have been rude to not get that for dessert… I ate my gelato as I walked down the steep hill to Bascilica of Estrela. I poked my head inside and beautiful guitar and singing washed over me, it was the middle of a service. I say and enjoyed the music until the religious bit started, which I took as my cue to leave and catch the famous 28E tram to my hotel. It was fun to catch the famous, old yellow tram for all of 2 minutes. Then the rammed nature of the carriage with my luggage and lack of aircon and fear of pick pockets hit me, and the 40 minute journey became immensely less fun. It got a bit more fun at the end again, where I followed the flow of the tram traffic to the back of the carriage and could watch the sites of the city pass through the back window.

My hotel was an old convent and did the job perfectly. I ventured back out for dinner and explored the more lively central districts, following the sound of drums and samba music down to the shore of the huge river (it looked more like the sea than a river). I was reminded that men in cities can be strange and scary as I returned to the busier streets before settling on a fish restaurant recommended by one of the surf camp staff. I had black linguine with scallops and realised I didn’t really like scallops that much.

The following day I targeted the central region of the city - Baixa, Chiado and Barrio Alto. I mooched to my heart’s content, taking in the narrow streets, the colourful houses, the beautiful tiles and the old trams moving past them all. I ate several more pasta de nata, drank coffee on a terrace, ate roasted chestnuts (hello autumn!) and enjoyed a traditional bifano for lunch (a beef sandwich with plenty of mustard and chilli oil). I visited several more ‘concept’ stores which turned out to be very common in Lisbon, one of which was in a beautiful, palace like building (EmbaiXada). I enjoyed the steep hills but was thankful to not be visiting in summer. In the afternoon, I rejoined Christine and we did a walking tour of Alfama. It was as interesting as all walking tours are (very) and we enjoyed moving through the even narrower streets (no spaces for cars even) and hearing glimpses of the history held by the walls. A highlight was coming across an open doorway, where an old lady sold Ginjinha (cherry liqueur) in chocolate cups for 1.50EUR. Delicious! We enjoyed a drink over looking the city before having dinner at a Fado bar. Fado is a type of traditional music played live in small bars across Lisbon. The one we saw involved a Portugeuse guitar (with 12 strings!), a normal guitar and a singer (which changed throughout the night). It was very fun to experience and I’d recommend doing it when in Lisbon, but I’m not sure I’d be a regular if I lived there.

For my final day in Lisbon, I had a traditional Portuguese breakfast - an espresso and a pasta de nata consumed standing at the bakery counter. I went to my bakery of choice (I’d also had breakfast here the previous day) and nodded to the old ladies in the corner. From here I headed up hill to the Feira da Ladra, a big flea market selling an eclectic mix of goods. There was everything from broken lamps, handmade ceramics, a bundle of watch straps, jewellery and old coins. After I had seen every odd item for sale I made my way back down the hill to go and get the best souvenir of all time - a tattoo! Once done, I just about had time for one last lunch (fish of course) and one last gelato before it was time to navigate the public transport to the airport and say goodbye to Portugal.

I really liked Lisbon. It was colourful and artistic and fun. But I wouldn’t want to live in Lisbon. In fact, it seems that no one lives in Lisbon any more. According to our walking tour guide, most people now live across the big river and commute into the city each day. Living in Lisbon is too expensive for most now, and so it has become a city filled with tourists. As a consequence of only tourists living inside the city, it has become a city which serves only tourists - there are very few normal shops, such as grocery stores, and instead hundreds of souvenir shops. It feels slightly strange to visit a city where no one lives (oh the irony of saying this as a tourist). But I would still re-visit it, and I would recommend it to others (further irony of recommending more tourists to visit!).

Most importantly, my pasta de nata rankings:

1. Delícia do Pão - Forno a Lenha (small, local spot)
2. Manteigaria (popular chain)
3. Pastéis de Belém (the inventor of pasta de nata)
4. Fora Artisan Pastry (fancy bakery)
5. Taberna Do Castelo (restaurant)
6. Santo António (chain)

Over Easter weekend (a 6 day holiday only using 2 days’ of annual leave, a no brainer really) I travelled to Romania, alone, to do some hiking. The plan was simple: fly into Brasov (a small city in Transylvania) and then travel to Piatra Craiului, making a pit stop at Bran Castle (aka Dracula’s castle).

I landed into Brasov just after lunch and caught an Uber (very cheap) to my hotel, dropping my bags before adding a few layers and heading out to explore the city. I only had one night here so I wanted to make the most of it. I got an obligatory holiday gelato and smugly took a photo against the blue sky - take that rain weather forecast. I visited the Black church, which was black and striking from the outside but not worth the ticket price to go inside. I escaped out of the perimeter of the old city to find the river just outside, admiring the small footpath along side it and the arched building over it. I walked up the steps to the White tower and then along to the Black tower. Both had excellent views of the city - the small old town full of coloured buildings built around the slightly off centre, huge black church and expansive square, and the tree-filled hill which ran across the opposite border of the city, with the Hollywood-style “Brasov” sign. At the Black tower I met Jero - perhaps the only other solo traveller in the city - who was a lovely Argentinian guy now living in Spain. I agreed to his offer to continue our explorations together, heading back down the steps, across the river and across the threshold into the old city. We visited the tower gate to the city and the Synagogue. We tried to visit the narrowest street in Europe (or one of them) but this was boarded up for maintenance. We ended up back in the main square, with the sights of Brasov having run out. As it was really rather sunny at this point we decided what we clearly had to do was visit one of the restaurants with tables out on the square and have a glass of cold, Romanian white wine. And so we did. It was gorgeous and it made me feel like I was on a horizontal holiday in Spain rather than a hiking trip in the Romanian mountains. WhichI wasn’t too mad about. We chatted about our lives and relationships in the way that you somehow only can with a fellow traveller you have only just met and know you will never see again after this one evening. A plummet into the intimate topics with no need to censor or twist the details to make you come out looking good. We moved from wine to dinner and I had my first taste of Romanian food. In a word, cabbagey. Back at my hotel, I enjoyed a lovely night’s sleep after fighting with the external wooden blinds for an embarrassingly long period of time (eventually giving in and asking ChatGPT to help me work out how to close them).

After a slightly strange hotel breakfast, I continued my wanderings of Brasov and prepared myself for the mountains - taking out some cash and having a proper coffee. I caught an uber to the bus station and then the bus on to Bran. The journey took 45 minutes and deposited me right outside the infamous Bran castle. I explored the castle for a few hours (it’s not very big), enjoying the history and architecture but not the annoying American tourists. I took the incredibly old elevator (installed in 1937!) down to the basement / dungeons to be popped back out in gardens, very exciting but probably not worth the £4 I paid. I spotted a hill opposite the castle and went to climb it for the perfect photo. This was a little muddier and a little steeper than expected, but I survived and made it back down just as it started to rain (guess the weather forecast had to be at least a little bit right). I found shelter in a restaurant and enjoyed pork knuckle soup (oddly, still very cabbagey) and papnasi (incredible cheesecake doughnuts). Despite the continuous rain, I headed back out to try and order an uber to the neighbouring town of Zarnesti, where I’d stay that night before hiking into the national park the next morning. The uber took a long time and so I stole some shelter under the canopy of a little shop, until the shop keeper made me leave and wait in the rain (grumpy man). My guesthouse in Zarnesti was fine and the owner was so incredibly lovely and friendly. Genuinely couldn’t do more to help you. I got to my room and lay down to the sound of rain and immediately fell asleep for an hour. On waking, I was met with a pizza cooked by the owner. I guess there had been some confusion on my earlier non-committed response to her offer of cooking me a “traditional Romanian pizza”. The issue was I was in no way hungry yet (having had a very late lunch) and also wanted to go out for dinner. So, after a problem solving call with Coen, I decided to keep the pizza and have it for lunch over the next few days whilst hiking and still go out for food that night. I borrowed an umbrella and headed to the high street, which was utterly deserted. Just like the restaurant. I was the only customer and enjoyed my cabbage based meal whilst reading my book. I popped into the supermarket on my way back to get supplies - nuts, biscuits, oranges and dairylee triangles (a staple breakfast food here it seemed which reminded me of how tasty they are).

After a few slices of the pizza for breakfast, I set off on my hike with all my belongings. The guesthouse owner insisted I take their bear spray which was the size of a medium-sized fire extinguisher, but after discussing with her husband who advised the spray wasn’t really necessary, I took just their whistle. I had thought the bears would still be hibernating, but clearly not…

Happy with the blue sky above and the map in my hand (purchased in Brasov), I left Zarnesti behind and entered the national park. The path started out fine, winding up a field and then along a river up through a wooded valley. Then it forked up right, leaving the wider valley to follow a ravine. This is when the path started to become far from fine. The description of the path on the map assured me of “light scrambling” up a rocky path but this was made a lot trickier by the existence of ice and then a thin layer of snow, and then a slightly thicker layer of snow, until all of a sudden I was thigh deep in snow. It was a mission to climb up the 1600m elevation gain through the narrow ravine to the top of the ridge line. For perspective, this section was around 4km long which would take me less than an hour if flat (and without snow), but this took me over 3 hours. I was a little scared of the conditions, but seeing two men make their way down the hill and one man go up in front of me, assured me that it was passable. I was also able to clearly see the way due to their footprints in the snow, and use them to walk in to avoid having to constantly push through the metre deep drifts. What was making me increasingly scared was the thought of how I would get back down in a few days. Going up was one thing, I could climb using my hands and lean into the steep rock easily, so falling / slipping wasn’t an issue. But going down without crampons or poles would be pretty lethal. When I (finally) reached the ridgeline after questioning what on earth I was doing several times (like, seriously, could I not have gone for a weekend of wine drinking in the south of France with friends rather than hiking in snow up a cliff alone?), I spotted a little path up to the viewpoint. Seeing as I’d dragged myself this far, I dragged myself the final few metres up to this. My jaw literally dropped as I took in the view to my right - a mountain, right there! - and to my left - a towering ridgeline, also right there! The view directly down was also impressive, being the steep path (/cliff) I’d come up and the town way down below. I enjoyed the sun on my skin and watched the clouds move across the mountains as I ate an incredibly well-deserved biscuit. As the clouds moved in I got a wiggle on and began to head down the other side of the ridge to find Cabana Cumatura, which is where I’d be spending the night. The path was still thick with snow and ice and zig-zagged through a forest. The fear of bears replaced my fear of getting back down and I played some music out loud as recommended (so I wouldn’t accidentally sneak up on one and scare it). The going was almost as slow as the way up as I tried not to slip. After around 6 hours of hiking (truly an insane amount of time to walk 8km) I made it to the Cabana and collapsed onto the bench in the sun with a hot chocolate.
The Cabana was beautiful - a huge wooden building with two floors and an alpine feel. Downstairs it had a kitchen where the Nepalese workers cooked up cabbage stews, fed to hikers who sat in the warmth of the wood panelled dining room. Upstairs there were several rooms, and my dorm room was filled with 8 bunk beds and a strange stove contraption. I left my stuff in here and took my smaller daypack back downstairs. Whilst I sat and recovered from my traumatic hike up, I saw a family with a young child appear, all of them in trainers. Now this filled me with incredible hope, clearly there were easier ways to get up to the Cabana than the one I had taken, and so I wouldn’t die on my hike back down! I asked the family which way they had come, and warned them not to go back down the way I’d come. Relieved, I set out for a little afternoon walk to a meadow I could see from the Cabana. There was still a fair amount of snow and ice on this trail, but nothing like the previous one. When I returned an hour or so later, just before it got dark, I was met with two other travellers in my room. They were two uni students from Finsbury Park (small world) who had not planned to stay the night, but, after taking the same path up as I did, were so traumatised by the experience that they couldn’t face walking back down that day (nor did they really have time before it got dark). They were completely unprepared for the night, however, with dripping clothes from falling in the snow and no dry items to wear. One of them wore contact lenses and didn’t have fresh ones for the morning, or anything to keep the current ones in overnight, meaning he had to keep them in and try to sleep with his eyes open! A complete disaster really, poor lads.

The next morning I wished good luck to the two boys as they left to descend back to civilisation and I did some yoga before leaving on my own hike for the day. I would stay for a second night at the Cabana so could leave most of my stuff behind, only taking some snacks, layers and other essentials (including the bear whistle). I had planned a route, which was an out and back with a loop at the end, and set myself 4 hours before I would turn around (to make sure I’d get back before dark). Time slipped by effortlessly as a crunched my way through the snow and gingerly slid down patches of ice. The route took me through forests of short pine trees; across small streams; down snowless woodland hills; across meadows covered with knee deep snow; and along a river which was also covered in thick snow (meaning I only discovered the river aspect when my foot, at one point, pushed all the way through the snow and plunged into the icy water hiding beneath). I turned around exactly on time, after finding a non-snowy patch to sit and eat my pizza for lunch. It was at this point that, after seeing only one couple for the entirety of the morning, I was engulfed by around 30 hikers. I followed their group and chatted to the guys at the back, who seemed excited to meet a foreigner and to tell me about their previous visits to the UK. The group, they told me, was a social group from Bucharest which organised all sorts of activities to get people together - basically a friend making group. Very cute! We took different paths shortly after this, and I left the crowd behind and made my way around the loop before rejoining my earlier path and retracing my steps back to the Cabana. No bears (luckily!), but a few potential bear footprints and a beautiful woodpecker which was so unbothered by me that he let me get incredibly close whilst he pecked away. I spent the rest of the day soaking in the last of the sun, reading my book and watching some netflix whilst cuddling with the Cabana cats, and eating, you guessed it, a cabbage based meal for dinner. I also treated myself to a piece of apple cake which I saw some other hikers eating after dinner, which had a piece of paper hidden inside sort of like a fortune cookie. The text was in Romanian and either made no sense, or google translate failed miserably.

My final day in the mountains was treated to full sun and without a cloud in the sky - at last! I set off down the mountain, following a (hopefully) easy and safe route. The initial section took me through woodland and was dotted with patches of ice still, until I was out in the open of a meadow. I decided this was the perfect spot for a barefoot frolic and some yoga, which it was. Out of breath but stretched out, I re-laced my boots and continued all the way down noting the much higher number of other hikers I saw as an indicator that this was indeed an easier route. It was downhill all the way back down to a road, and I felt sorry for the hikers coming up the hill, which was still incredibly steep if not quite at the cliff-level of my route up. I gave a middle finger to the last patch of snow, just to satisfy an inner need, and revelled at the sight of flowers and grass and mud. I hit the road and headed into Zarnesti to drop my borrowed whistle back at the guesthouse. I was rewarded with coffee and cake for my efforts and a hug from the owner’s daughter. I set my sights on my hotel for this final night, which was still several hours of hiking away, through the rolling hills of the lower altitudes. To avoid having to walk back along the road, I located some paths on my map which took me over a hill rather than around it. Terrible idea it turned out, as after getting lost twice, scaling another cliff (this time no snow, but gritty mud which slid from under each foot with no warning), and shouting at aggressive farm dogs, I made it back to a road and swore to stay on it for the rest of the day. Whilst sat on the edge of this road having a breather (read: crumbling in relief to still be alive) I looked up to see two guys walking past me - it was none other than the Finsbury Park boys from the Cabana! Good to see they’d survived in any case, although it didn’t sound like they’d enjoyed their way down too much… I marched through the last 2 hours of hiking, following small roads and dirt tracks past small houses, small herds of sheep and small churches all the way to Pestera and just beyond to my hotel. It was a gorgeous little (but fancy) wellness retreat centre which I’d got for cheap as I booked so last minute. I have never been so happy to see a bed than when I opened my hotel room and saw the plumpest, hugest, bed in the world. But no time to lie down yet, as I had 30 minutes until the evening yoga class! So I opted to shower (it had been 3 days after all) instead and then head to the class. It was a lovely, slow flow and afterwards I sat and drank tea with the yoga teacher and watched the sunset. We spoke about our love for yoga and how it wove through our lives. When the sun disappeared behind the mountains I took myself to dinner at the in-situ restaurant and enjoyed a beef stew, which was thankfully non-cabbagey. Despite being exhausted, there was something I simply had to do before bed. Use the hot tub. So I got back into my sweaty sports bra (not ideal but sadly I didn’t think to pack a bikini) and enjoyed a private hot tub experience, with a blanket of stars overhead and the outline of mountains in the distance. Beautiful. I also had a quick sauna session, but then it really was time for bed.

One final slow morning of another yoga class, breakfast and then relaxing on the terrace with a coffee and my book. A final hour of walking to the nearest town with a bus to Brasov (sticking to the road of course). A final explore of Brasov, including some souvenir shopping, exchanging my leftover Romanian currency (I had hugely overestimated how much I would need) into Euros, and a final meal (still cabbagey!). And then the flight home from one of the smallest airports I have ever used.

An interesting trip. Overall, very enjoyable and very memorable. In certain moments, it did make me question my judgement and what on earth I was doing. Is that a sign of a great trip? Unsure.
Also, I solved the mystery of why all food tasted like cabbage, despite not visibly including cabbage. I asked the waiter of my final meal why the meatball soup I had ordered tasted similar to a cabbage stew I’d had previously. He told me - happily - that the soup included the juice from fermented cabbages. I “ahhed” and nodded, internally screaming “why?????”.

I had just 5 days between the end of the yoga training and the expiration of my Indian visa (and my flight home). I thought about how I wanted to spend them whilst at the ashram, and settled on a few days in the Himalayan foothills, only a few hours north of Rishikesh. Shimla had also been a contender, but when I realised it would take a full day to travel there and the same back to Delhi, I went off the idea. I felt tired after the training and I wanted to be somewhere beautiful and quiet and in nature, and I did not want to spend 8 hours on a train to get there. However, there was a huge storm in our second week, a late monsoon cloud burst, which destroyed parts of the only road into Mussoorie, leaving it cut-off. A few days before I was planning to head there, I checked with one of the hostels I was planning to stay at to confirm that the road was open. They assured me that it was. So, after one last breakfast and one last coffee and cake with all the girls (and Alvero, the one man on our course, a Mexican guy that was full of surprises - I initially thought he was a gym lad but turned out to be the kindest, warmest man ever (who was even a granddad!)), I caught a tuktuk half an hour out of the town to a flyover which served as the bus station. The bus was 1.5 hours late, and I sipped on a cold sprite and ate some masala crisps to pass the time. When the bus eventually arrived, on the wrong side of the major road resulting in a mad dash across the frantic traffic, I made myself comfortable for the short 2 hour journey. Fourty minutes into the journey, the bus man came to my seat and here began a great confusing conversation, the jist of which was that he accused me of cancelling my bus ticket, meaning the bus would no longer go to my stop (as I was the only passenger for this stop) and would terminate beforehand. After adamanently explaining that I had not cancelled my ticket, he conceded and the story instead became that the bus company had cancelled my ticket because it wasn’t worth driving to the destination for one person. Apparently they had texted me this information, although only 30 minutes before the bus time and also without using my country code, so I didn’t receive the message. After a lot of back and forth, and much indignation by me, helped by a friendly guy translating, they refunded my bus ticket to me in cash right there and I was left on the side of the road to continue my journey. The friendly man stayed with me and insisted that we get a tuktuk to the train station as a taxi would be cheaper from there. Turns out this was incorrect and the taxi was the same price. The taxi delivered me a short walk from my hostel in the old hill station town of Mussoorie. The hostel was one of the worst I’ve ever stayed in, with the darkest, dampest rooms ever. There was a huge hole in the ceiling above my bed, and when I peered in, I really wish that I hadn’t. Despite this appalling accommodation (in its defence, it was £3), I enjoyed wandering around the little town of Mussoorie, eating Tibetan food (momos and laphing), and exploring the British colonial sites like gunpoint (where a large cannon would fire to mark the time). The people were friendly and polite, without the usual forceful, slightly scam-heavy style I expected in India.

After one night at the awful hostel, I got a taxi down to a tiny village even more in the hills, and checked into my last stop of the trip. It was a gorgeous hostel spread out over the bottom of the valley, over a little stream. It could’ve been something out of the teletubbies. To end the trip on a high note (pun intended) I was staying in a treehouse! It was beautifully built with the tree, branches moving inside the interior as well as supporting the structure. It had two floors and a balcony, and even its own bathroom. After being in a shared room for the last month, I savoured the solitude and space the little treehouse gave me, perched up above the rest of the hostel. Although the thought of the horror of experiencing a storm during the night did cross my mind a few times…

There was only one other guest when I arrived, and one joined later the next day. Both Indian guys, both very lovely. After an afternoon of ultimate chilling (sitting in the tree and watching the world go by), I went on the back of one of the guy’s scooters to check out a viewpoint and mountain peak in the morning. The views of the foothills stretching endlessly out, becoming more hazy with each layer back, were framed by the tips of the snowy peaks emerging from behind. We had breakfast back at the bottom, on the green of the stately-style garden (it was George Everest’s, a prominent British surveyor who had spent his life doing geological surveys of India). Once we were back at the hostel, one of the staff took us on a short walk to a secret waterfall, a little way up the stream. We had the waterfall to ourselves. In fact, we also had the viewpoint to ourselves, and the hostel! The cloud burst and destroyed road had put off most travellers, so the whole area was deserted despite it being the start of peak season. We swam in the fresh spring water of the waterfall, freshened up by its coolness. I spent the afternoon relaxing again, sunbathing on the grass and reading my book. It almost felt like I was at a European resort, except that I was bitten my two leeches whilst sunbathing and so had to take a sunbathing break to put plasters on my ankle and toe to stop to endless bleeding (a first for me!). In the evening, the second guy asked if we wanted to join him in going to a temple with a great view for sunset. He had been coming to this place once a year for the last few years, so knew all the good spots. We drove over on mopeds, through a waterfall which had appeared on the road, and around curves in the green, rocky cliffs that reminded me of the Ha Giang Loop in Vietnam. The spot was indeed great for the sunset, and we sat silently on the ground as the sun slipped behind a cloud and then the hills, and the haze lifted with the dusk to reveal a winding river at the bottom of the valley. Again, the snow-topped peaks waved hello at the very back of the horizon. My last proper sunset of the trip, as the following day’s would be from the train.

I had a quiet breakfast of chai and cauliflower paratha from a little cafe hovering over the river and reflected on my trip. By the end of the yoga training I was exhausted and felt ready to go home, excited for it even. But the last few days hidden away in the foothills, bathed in quiet and space, had re-energised my travelling spark. The idea of skipping my flight crossed my mind, and I entertained it for a while, imagining a life where I travel full-time. Where I spend the next few months exploring the villages of northern India. The thought gave me butterflies in my stomach and a glint in my eye. But then I thought about my life in London. About my new little house with Sam. About my friends and all the things we love to do together. About starting as an associate at work. About my hobbies. About good coffee and even better pastries. And all of that made my stomach flip with joy and my eyes sparkle too. Maybe I wanted both, maybe I’d be equally happy with either. In any case, I finished my breakfast and shared a taxi down to the rail station with one of the guys and caught the train to Delhi. Unlike my previous Indian train journeys, I had opted for the more expensive “Executive Chair” class which made the 6 hour journey thoroughly enjoyable. The highlight was that I was able to order my dinner from a restaurant near to one of the stations, and have it delivered to my seat - genius! The lowlight was the absolute nightmare that was trying to book the train in the first place, which required me first registering for an IRCTC number (it took hours to sort out - ask my yoga roommates!). I arrived late into New Delhi station, just gone 11pm, and steeled myself for what I knew would be an unpleasant final journey to my airport hotel. First obstacle was the crowd of taxi drivers outside of the train door telling me that the metro to the airport was not running at this time (I knew the last train was at 11:40pm). Second was finding the metro entrance, which was across a dimly lit thoroughfare of tuktuk and homeless madness. Third was that this was not the correct metro station for the airport line, but told via an angry man shouting at me in Hindi, and then eventually a calm lady who explained in english. Fourth was the second dash cross an equally dimly lit road with more tuktuks to the correct metro station. Fifth was the rush to buy a ticket before the counter closed. Sixth was the dark walk through a road under construction to get from the metro to the hotel on the other side (the actual metro was great). And finally, at midnight, I was safely within the walls of an extortionately priced Holiday Inn, sleepily checking in before flopping onto the ginormous bed and taking a hot shower. Why an expensive Holiday Inn you ask? Well because I had originally booked a cheap but lovely looking hotel with great reviews, one of the many airport hotels on booking.com that were located right next to airport metro station, except when I checked the location of this hotel on google maps I realised that it didn’t exist, or at least not with the same location and not with the same photos. I cross-checked a few of the other cheap airport hotels and found the same. They were all located in a region across the highway from the airport instead. After some googling it seemed the airport hotels were all a scam and either fake or terrible, and the area they were in was very dodgy. Feeling like I’d just avoided a bad situation for my final night, I decided I’d opt for safety over everything and cashed out the amount for the reputable, certainly not fake, and actually right by the metro station Holiday Inn. And I’m very glad I did! In the morning I made my way to the airport and caught my flight back to London. Uneventful, except that I sat next to a very lovely, very nervous guy from Punjab heading to Edinburgh for the first time to start university there.

And just like that, two months is over. Two days at home before going back to work, during which I need to move into my new house! Wish me luck…

The second half of my quali leave was dedicated to yoga. I used this month to complete my 200 hours yoga teacher training, not because of an imminent career switch to a yoga teacher, but because this is the best way to deepen, and get serious, about your own practice. Since yoga became an essential part of my life at university, I knew I would do the training at some point and, after I had become increasingly interested in the philosophy and non-physical limbs of yoga in the last two years, felt that this was the time. My priority for the training was to learn about the traditional style of yoga and the philosophy that underpins in, and so I chose a program which aligned with this. I also thought that if I was going to India to do this, I might as well do it properly. I chose an ashram (a site for spiritual study) with strict rules and an emphasis on tradition. I was ready to be open to all of its teachings, but was mindful that I would likely only resonate and choose to take home some of them (in particular, I had a feeling there would be heavy links to Hinduism which, as a staunch atheist, I would be resistant towards). I had little expectations otherwise.

The training

Intense. We had classes 6 days a week, each day following an identical schedule. See below for this schedule, and note the starting time of 5:45am (ouch).

The day began with pranayama (breathwork) and shatkarma (traditional cleansing techniques). The pranayama was enjoyable and fairly familiar. The shatkarma was less so… This saw us pouring salt water into one nostril and letting it pour out of the other (surprisingly refreshing after I’d got the angle right and the water stopped pouring down my throat instead). It saw us washing our eyes with eye cups (also quite pleasant). And, finally, it saw us threading a rubber tube up our nostril and down the nasal passage to emerge at the back of our throats, where we reached in and pulled it out of our mouth (or attempt to, I couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to get it round the curve at the top of my nose) (definitely not pleasant!). Beyond the eye washing, I’ve decided these techniques are something I’ll leave at the ashram, but I’ve made a commitment to floss everyday - modern day shatkarma if you will.

We had three 1.5 hour classes of asana practice each day (asanas being the physical postures that you probably think of when thinking of yoga), covering Hatha (the original form of physical yoga), Ashtanga (a set sequence which originated from Hatha), and Yin (a more modern, restorative form of yoga where poses are held for extended periods of time). In these classes we would go through different postures, understanding the correct alignment, learning modifications and hands-on assists. In Yin, we would discuss additional stretches that we could use to help increase how deep we could go other postures. In Ashtanga, our teacher would show us the correct transitions between the postures, which included impossibly controlled handstands and flipping yourself from lying on your back to a push-up position by rolling over your neck. We watched in amazement and entertained his insistences that we at least attempt these, only to fail miserably. As time went on, we would sometimes be asked to lead a surya namaskara (sun salutation) or cue a posture, but overall the emphasis was on us learning the correct postures ourselves. I completely loved the asana classes and especially learning the correct alignments. After the first proper ashtanga class I remember thinking that my body really felt like it was made to move in the sequence of the sun salutation.

We had two theory classes - anatomy and philosophy. I didn’t care much for the anatomy class, with it being either a repeat of A level biology or mostly irrelevant (do I really need to know the names of each of the four muscles that make up the quadriceps?). In contrast, I lived for the philosophy class. The theory was so interesting and, for the most part, lined up exactly with how I saw the world and how I believe that you should live your life. Having it laid out in a logical way was so pleasing. And our teacher was just incredible. There’s a risk in India, and anywhere, that the teachings of traditional philosophy are warped to excuse or justify certain cultural beliefs and practices. This has been done for hundreds of years, and so if a different interpretation is taken, you are accused of changing the philosophy to keep with modern times (whether this is wrong to do is a different question). However, our philosophy teacher took a different angle. He argued that the true interpretation of the philosophy had been changed by the cultural beliefs of the past, and that if you went back to the original philosophy, a more pure meaning was apparent. We were not updating the philosophy to reflect modern times, but removing the past cultural distortment of it. For example, people argue that the philosophy provides that homosexuality is “unnatural”. But in fact, the philosophy states that when two souls connect it is natural for the subtle body (the physical body) of these two beings to connect. It does not mention the gender of these beings, and further, according to the yogic philosophy there is no gender, we are all one. This was so refreshing to hear. I won’t go into the theory we covered here as I’m sure most people won’t be particularly interested, but if you are, you can read my summary of what we covered here.

Our final class of the day was meditation, with another incredible teacher. She would shed insight on difficult topics surrounding living a yogic life, and brought humour and lightness into these. We would do a different mediation technique each evening, and I struggled through them with differing levels of success in terms of quietening my mind. My least favourite was mantra jappa, where you use a necklace with 108 beads on it to keep count of chanting a mantra 108 times. I nodded off at one point and lost my place, and kept fumbling the beads. My favourite was candle gazing - staring at a candle then closing your eyes and focusing on your third eye, then back to the candle. This was the only meditation where I truly managed to quieten my mind, and actually experienced something other than just my mind rolling through a jumble of random thoughts.

Ashram life

For the duration of the course, we lived on-site at the ashram. In fact, we were not allowed to leave the ashram except for on our one day off a week (Wednesday). There were a set of very strict, and sometimes seemingly meaningless, rules which we had to follow. These included:

• No saying hello or namaste to anyone, instead say “aum namah shivaya”.
• No hugging or touching in general.
• Breakfast and lunch had to be eaten in silence, with a continuous droning chant of “aum namah shivaya” played over speakers.
• No singing or dancing, except when thinking about spiritual things (we learnt this after our impromptu karaoke and dance party which emerged after our meditation teacher couldn’t make it was shut down).

I didn’t mind the rules too much, deciding just to accept and follow them without worrying too much about the rationale behind them. What did bother me, and many others, slightly however, was the fact that the aloof management team seemed above these rules and also the general ethics that we were being taught. But this joint distaste fostered even more of a community spirit between us as students.

I think it is probably inevitable that a small group of people (there were 13 of us on the 200 hour course and 4 on the 300 hour course) living in the same place, eating all meals together, attending classes for the majority of the day together, and sharing rooms together (I had 2 roommates), will bond together tightly. The moments of laughter and joy shared between classes and just before bed in our room with my 2 roommates were paramount in keeping me sane. Even more essential to our sanity were the weekly pilgrimages into the town on our day off, our aptly named “girls’ day”, filled with coffee and cake stops, eating as many eggs as we could (all our meals were pure vegetarian, meaning no eggs in India, and sattvic, meaning easy to digest), and keeping the clothes and jewellery shops of Rishikesh in business. Conversations would flow effortlessly between discussion on the philosophical teachings from the week, to our love lives and boys, to our favourite yoga styles and features of classes. It was pure bliss. I had always wanted a little group of yoga friends, and it felt wonderful to finally have this. Even more so when 2 of the girls were also based in London so I knew that the yoga friendships would continue. Perhaps surprisingly, 5 out of the 17 students were lawyers, including one working in corporate law in London, at a similar firm to mine, on her delayed qualification leave (just like me!). But there was still a huge variety in backgrounds and origins, and in purposes for doing the course, resulting in a hum of cultures and community. Whilst I was friends with everyone on the course, I became especially close to my roommates. If everyone else is a yoga friend, these two are something a bit wider, expanding past just yoga, and a bit deeper. They are my maitris, a sanskrit term meaning a close friend, or more specifically, someone you wish to share your senses with. We each saw one another move through the emotional tolls of the training, being there to listen and to offer an illegal hug where needed. Because it was emotionally confronting at times, and it brought up things that we perhaps thought we had finished working through. So a very special thank you to Jess and Christine, and also Prerna (our honoury roommate!), for making this training even more rich.

Whilst our course progressed, so did the monsoon. It usually finished in August, but in recent years it had been lingering further and further into September. Just as in Pakistan, it was all again shocking to have the impacts of climate change placed so closely in front of you. I watched the rain pouring in sheets as we ate breakfast, and struggled to hear teachers over it crashing on the roof of the yoga shala. It provided white noise to our meditations, and lulled us to sleep at night. Except for one night, where a storm rolled in that was so aggressive, the lightning and thunder so completely on top of us, that no one slept until late into the night. It wasn’t just the volume of the storm, but its vibrations. You could feel them through the bed every time the thunder came. For the next 4 days after the storm, we had no electricity (except when the generator was running), limited water with intermittently flushing toilets, and we even had to miss a morning of classes as the road had been blocked by fallen trees, so our teachers couldn’t make it to the ashra. It was by the far the biggest storm I’ve ever experienced. But once it was done, it seemed the monsoon was finally over.

What I’ll take with me, and what I’ll leave behind

Taking with me:

• Friendships, and the practice of being there for people in any way you can.
• Sanskrit names for asanas.
• Pranayama each morning before asanas.
• Yin before bed (or even in bed).
• Occasionally meditating.

Leaving behind:

• Threading string up my nose and out of my mouth.
• Attempting to do full Ashtanga chaturanga transitions.
• Being silent for meals (but I will still try to be more present whilst eating).
• Mantra chanting.
• All the bugs and damp in the rooms.
• The lack of chocolate.

Our meditation teacher told us that it’s important to not go shouting about the things we have learnt. To simply live them and share them this way. So I’m not going to go into the feelings and foundations I uncovered during this month (and I would struggle to verbalise them even if I did). But I hope that when you next see me you will notice a little more ease, a little more intention, and a little more joy in the person in front of you.

Crossing into China from northern Pakistan was one of the biggest developmental contrasts I’ve ever experienced. After having no electricity, no phone service, no hot water and only limited shops, I was stunned to be confronted with a full-on city in Tashkurgan. I missed the silence but I was hugely appreciative of the amenities. Beyond this initial shock, there were several other monumental differences, including:

1. Chinese people count to 10 using one hand, with special hand signals for 6 - 10. Initially I was completely confused when people were waving a telephone signal at me (thumb and little finger extended with the rest folded in), until a vague memory of seeing something about chinese counting came to me. After some googling, I learnt the hand signals and rather enjoyed using them.
2. QR codes for everything. QR codes, scanned via WeChat or Alipay, are used for paying for things (no contactless or card machines here), ordering food in restaurants, adding friends to message, getting info once at a hostel, just everything!
3. Discussions about politics or the chinese government are usually a complete no go. People look warily at their phones and change the subject. Alternatively, I was met with an entirely different perspective on issues. For example, I spoke a lot with the other girl on my Sichuan tour about politics and received some interesting takes. She told me that there was absolutely no genocide in Xinjiang against the Uyghurs, in fact the government gave them a lot of social aid. She admitted that it may be true that they could not get passports, but only after a Tibetan guy told us that he could not get a passport, something which initially shocked her. She also asked me how I was coping with England’s bankruptcy, which was news to me.
4. Passports / Identity cards are needed for everything. Not just hotel bookings, this is to be expected, but for visiting a museum, a national park, or any ticketed place. Your booking is linked to your passport number and this must be shown on entry. A clever way to keep tabs on what everyone is doing I suppose.
5. Food is everywhere and important, especially in Sichuan, but eating it is not given the same time and care that I would’ve expected. As soon as the final mouthful is chopsticked into your mouth, not yet even swallowed, people are standing up to pay and leave. There is no slow enjoyment or break for digestion!
6. Several items which are unacceptable in the west are perfectly normal here, namely spitting on the street, burping loudly, and pushing people. Queues are also a suggestion rather than mandatorily followed, which felt quite freeing to engage with.

I only really experinced two provinces in China: Xinjiang and Sichuan. Sichuan felt very “chinese”, by which I mean Han chinese. Xinjiang did not, feeling more similar to central asia than Sichuan, but with chinese aspects still present. I enjoyed my time in China a lot more than I expected to. Yes, the people are not outrageously friendly, but it was quite nice to be left to do my own thing and not constantly stared at. The culture as arguably the oldest, continuous civilisation is rich and so different to the west. The cities are developed so comfortable to travel in, but in a very different way to the west so they are still interesting to experience. The rural areas are less developed and so offer the off the beaten path feeling. The scenery is varied and beautiful. The food is incredible and cheap. Trains are fast and efficient. The plethora of apps make it a breeze, once you have them set up. And if you use an esim, you don’t even need a VPN, the western apps all still work! I would definitely like to spend more time in China, in particular in Gansu (the silk road province in between Xinjiang and Sichuan with great hiking) and Tibet. My main irks with China are over the fakeness of some of the historical sights and the constant use of tourist shuttle buses at touristy sights that you have to take to explore the area. I think a trip which focuses on hiking and camping, and visiting small villages might avoid both of these issues, however. I’ll keep you posted.

Chengdu

Chengdu was the first and only major city I would visit in China. I was prepared for a lot of people, a lot of noise, a lot of high buildings and perhaps a feeling of claustrophobia. Maybe because I was expected the worst, I actually found Chengdu a pleasant place to be. Yes, there were a lot of people, even more than in London, and there were lots of high buildings in the centre and a lot of lights, but it wasn’t noisy. People, cars and bikes moved around the city quietly. I think that was the major aspect which made it enjoyable. I spent several days here, split up by my tour to Western Sichuan, and as it was my last stop before the yoga training I also had some errands to do (buying white trousers for the opening ceremony, posting postcards, topping up on toiletries). Despite this, I managed to fit in everything I wanted to do. See below for my highlights of what to do in Chengdu:

1. Enjoy the food - Sichuan has arguably the best food in China, and Chengdu is a hub for it. I ate a lot, and enjoyed all of it hugely. Definitely the best food of the trip! Notable mentions are hot pot and the similar Mai Cao, baozhi for breakfast (preferably the kind stuffed with spiced meat), mapo tofu, dandan noodles (peanuts, minced pork and noodles in a spicy sauce) and the fresh figs (purple ones, unlike the green variety in Xinjiang).
2. Cooking class - I love doing cooking classes in different countries and when I saw one advertised at my hostel I knew I had to do it, I was dying to learn how to cook some of this delicious food. Amazingly, I was the only person in the cooking class on that day, so was treated to a private class with two guides and one chef! The two guides, both guys in their 20s from Chengdu, picked me up and showed me around the market first. They pointed out different produce and explained what they were used for, and I let them know if we had that in England. We bought two of the overly perfect looking peaches for us to eat later, and a century duck egg for me to try (an egg which has been preserved using chemicals). We explored the spice area and they explained that Sichuan cooking used the sichuan peppercorn which gave the food the floral taste and also caused the numbing sensation, and dried chilli which gave it the spice. After we had seen all the important produce we headed to the kitchen, which was right on the edge of the market. Here we had jasmine tea (traditional for Sichuan) and ate the peaches before preparing to cook. I cooked three dishes: (1) Chinese cabbage - stir fried cabbage in a spicy soy sauce, (2) Twice cooked pork - belly pork which is first boiled and then cut into thin strips (like bacon) and stir fried with garlic leaves, and (3) mapo tofu - tofu in a spicy sauce. All three were surprisingly simple to cook, and absolutely delicious. We enjoyed them with rice and the century egg, which was black and a strange gelatinous texture that I didn’t love. It was such a great experience and I can’t wait to cook the dishes at home. It was also a nice opportunity to speak to some locals (who had excellent english) about their thoughts on China.
3. Panda sanctuary - If you mention Chengdu to any Chinese person, their initial response is always about the pandas there. It is the home of the giant panda and there are several research centres and sanctuaries you can visit. I visited the main one, closest to Chengdu, for a morning to catch the pandas whilst they are most active. I can’t say I was massively into pandas beforehand, but wow they are very cute to watch. So clumsy and fluffy and do not look like they should be attempting to climb a tree (and often fall down when they do). I managed to avoid the crowds for the most part - the park is huge and there are a lot of pandas - so it was a great morning activity.
4. Check out the different areas - When it wasn’t pouring with rain, I hired the little bikes that are everywhere to cycle around the city, which was at times slightly nerve-wracking but mostly wonderful fun. When it was pouring with rain, I used the very efficient, very clean metro. Places worth mentioning are the People’s Park, which was the first city park in China and huge and jungle-like filled with old people dancing in groups (a common thing in China it would seem); Qingyang Buddhist Temple, pretty and rather atmospheric in the rainy weather; Anshun Bridge, pretty cool but not the most amazing bridge I’ve seen; Kuan Alley, a network of narrow alleys leftover from the old town that are now filled with food stalls and tea shops; and the Chengdu Museum, free to entry and very comprehensive but very busy. I also travelled a bit further out from the centre to the Eastern Suburb Memory which is a hip shopping and eating area in an old electronics tube factory, filled with independent clothing stores and art displays.

All in all, I really enjoyed my time in Chengdu and would recommend the city to visit for a few days (or more, if you want to eat even more delicious food).

Western Sichuan tour

I wanted to visit a few places in western Sichuan to experience the Tibetan culture present there and see the scenery, which was a mixture of snow-capped mountains and luscious green valleys and the more barren plateau. After researching it further, it seemed the only feasible option to visit these places in my timeframe would be to do a tour. I found an english tour which offered a more off-the-beaten track experience with lots of cultural emphasis and contacted them. Sadly, no tours were running whilst I was there but they recommended that I go with a Chinese group instead, and I agreed. Now, I expected the Chinese tour to be the same as the english one, just in mandarin, but this was a mistaken assumption. It was more of a whip around the interesting sights with no cultural exploration facilitated, so not quite what I had wanted but still it was nice to see the different places! It also allowed me to experience chinese culture more, being in a group with only 3 other chinese people, and whilst this was interesting, I can’t say I love the culture. It involves little communication between one another and lots of stops for photos. The plus side of the whole trip was that we ate meals together and the food is designed to be shared, so I just let them order and was treated to a delicious feast of different things every meal.

In my four day trip we visited:

1. Singuniang Mountain National Park - We got to spend a good five hours here and it was a stunning national park. In what seems to be true Chinese national park fashion, there was a shuttle bus that took you from the park gate to the highest and furthest point into the park, and then made several stops on its way back down. People mostly explored the park by getting on and off this bus, and the stops were quite crowded. However, there was an excellent path in between the stops, made up of wooden boardwalks and gravel trails along the river and crossing fields of yaks, that was completely deserted. There wasn’t time to walk the whole way back down (it was a huge national park) but I walked as much as possible and it was amazing. I even came across a hidden waterfall which towered above the valley. Mount Siguniang is 6,250m, but the highest point in the park that was accessible was low 4000s. Most of the trip around Western Sichuan was at surprisingly high altitudes, at least 3000m, so we had all been given a small tank of oxygen to use if needed, which I did find quite funny. The park was filled with red wood trees and there were several, small lakes which were so still that they reflected the surrounding valley and trees perfectly. Compared to the dry, barren scenery of Xinjiang, it was such a shock to now be in lucious green mountains. I was prepared for this, but the variation in China’s natural landscape still took me by surprise.
2. Yala Snow Mountain National Park - Sadly, the infamous Yala Snow Mountain (5820m) was firmly covered by clouds and I didn’t catch even a small glimpse of it. But I did get to watch a small herd of yaks (which I’ve decided are my favourite animal) wash and play in a river, so still nice. The driver of our shuttle bus for this national park was Tibetan and told us that he was unable to get a passport because of this. It was interesting to hear him talk openly about this, and about his love for the Tibetan language.
3. Moshi Park - I had no clue what this was before entering the park (it just reminded me of the childhood game Moshi Monsters), but disembarking the shuttle bus (really a feature of every park!) I was happily surprised by the scenery. This small park surrounded a geological abnormality, where moon-like grey rock cut through the green hillside, pointy and angled. There were walkways that weaved through the rock and hills, with informtation about the legends used to explain the rock formation (in summary, an army being turned to stoned). There were lots of marmots keeping an eye out for dropped snacks too, very cute.
4. Tagong Grasslands and Monastery - The main place I wanted to visit. The beginning of the Tibetan Plateau, with scenery to match. Gone were the trees and green vegetation seen in the national parks, replaced with rolling hills of short, dull-coloured grass. Broken up with strange towns like Tagong, a mixture of modern Chinese and traditional Tibetan which, aesthetically at least, clashed terribly. But the red and gold of the monasteries made up for it, complimenting the green hills perfectly. We ate noodles and then explored the hill with stupas, then two monasteries. Familiar from my time in the Himalayas in Nepal, also filled with Tibetan Buddhism, we saw prayer wheels and five-coloured prayer flags.
5. Mugecuo Lake - Huge high altitude lake, at 3700m. Lovely to wander around, and there was even a traditional dance show performed at one end. On the way back down, there was a little petting zoo of marmots and a jet of water that went higher if you screamed at it (no context was given).
6. Cities of Danba, Kangding and Xinduqiao - All very strange, again due to the clash of modern Chinese (lots of flashing signs) with the Tibetan style buildings and natural valley. Kangding, the biggest city, was especially odd but fun to explore. It included a lot of loud music and dancing in the squares.

To my horror, in addition to the spots we visited, we also stopped at a photography, dress-up place. I’d seen these at all of the major sights I’d visited in China, and the idea is that you hire a traditional outfit to wear for photos. The outfits in question here were the traditional Western Sichuan, Tibetan outfits. I initially resisted getting dressed up but after this seemed to offend the guide, and he assured me that there was no charge for it, I succumbed and selected a red outfit. It was quite fun, but I didn’t really see the point in any of it. After this, it was back to Chengdu and I can’t say I was too sad to say goodbye to my Chinese tour! It has made me very keen to visit Tibet and actually experience the culture properly. Perhaps I’ll be making use of the fact that my Chinese visa is for two years for that one…

Xinjiang is the most western province of China, and is an autonomous region (not that this means much in practice). There is a large minority population of Uyghur people, and there have been international claims of genocide by China against the Uyghurs. From my research of Xinjiang, I had been expecting a tight, surveillance state. However, while this may have been the case a few years ago, it seems to have relaxed considerably since then (in my experience). There was a lot of police around the cities, but not so many that I would have taken notice if I wasn’t looking out for it. I never had my passport checked when walking around, and didn’t see locals having their ID cards checked.

It was strangely familiar to be in the cities of Kashgar and Turpan. The people looked the same as in Uzbekistan and Kyrgystan, and the women wore the same scarves around their hair. A lot of the food was the same - plov/pilaf and samsa. And even the infamous Uzbek bread resembled the Nang bread here, although the bread here had more flavour. This pleased me a lot, and it was satisfying to see how Central Asia drifted into China, again with no hard boundaries. The scenery was similar to the steppe - dusty and barren.

In Kashgar, I explored the old city, which was not at all like I expected. I was expecting old buildings and little else, but was met with a Disneyland-esque situation with little tourist buses and loud speakers. The buildings looked fake, and the old city had indeed been destroyed and then rebuilt. I found the whole thing amusing and quite a pleasant change from the completely non-touristy Pakistan. I enjoyed buying melon from the little fruit stalls, very happy to find that my QR code worked for paying for things, and looking at the cute streets. I stumbled across a lovely little cafe and had an iced americano with apricot puree and people watched out of the window, later chatting to a botanist who had recently visited Oxford University for a conference. I also worked out what I would do next, to catch up with my other trains. I booked a flight for that night to the city of Turpan, and then a hotel which had 24 hour check-in, not too mad that this meant I had to book a nicer hotel with a private room. I continued my exploration of the city, visiting the largest mosque in China, which was very small compared to the huge mosque I’d visited in Islamabad, but was a nice yellow colour. I brought and ate a new variety of fig, larger and completely green. I caught a taxi over to a mausoleum and was again surprised that it had been Disney-fied. But again, I quite enjoyed this. I liked the beautiful gardens that had been built around it, filled with swinging chairs. The mausoleum and mosques were beautiful, with similar mosaics to those in Uzbekistan and the older style mosques with wooden columns outside. I was quite shocked to find an ostrich with a little saddle on it for riding, but enjoyed the plaques describing Uyghur culture and the replica houses built around the gardens. Back at the hostel, I packed up my bag and went to eat some dinner before travelling to the airport - a big plate of square noodles with veg and meat. Delicious and so much better than the food at my last homestay in Pakistan which bordered on dreadful.

A smooth flight, with the exception of my powerbank being confiscated because of a crack on its case, led me to the very nice hotel in Turpan. The following day I decided to hire a driver for the day (costing £35) so I could squeeze in all of the places I wanted to visit before my train the next morning. The driver was definitely better than my first experience in China, but was still a bit odd as he wanted to hold my hand all the time. In my jam-packed day, I visited:

1. The flaming mountains - just some red hills, I waved us onwards after 5 minutes here.
2. Tuyoq Village - a traditional Uyghur village surrounded by vineyards, complete with little workshops of the local people doing various local crafts. Very pretty and interesting. There were several mosques and the whole town was set into the sand coloured hills.
3. Buddha Caves - ancient mediation caves with murals of Buddha inside. Cool to see, but in every cave the murals had been stolen by either a German guy and were now in a museum in Berlin, or a British guy and were now in a museum in London…
4. Karev museum - a museum about the major irrigation project in western China, one of the three major ancient projects along with the Great Wall of China and the canals in the east. Mildly interesting.
5. Jiaohe ruins - huge ancient city from around 100 BC, now in ruins and reminded me of Pompei. It was an important point on the silk road. Very cool to explore, especially seeing the old Buddhist temples, stupa and caves.

A full but fun day! I moved my bags to the hostel and met my first fellow western traveller, an american girl called Mar. We got on immediately and when I said I was going to find beer and ice cream to celebrate the fact that I became a qualified lawyer today (actually felt like a huge moment!) she asked if I’d like some company and I happily agreed. We wandered around the city and spoke about our travel experiences and lives. We found ice cream and settled with beer from the supermarket back at the hostel, where we joined some Chinese guys. It was a lovely evening and reminded me how nice it is to spend time with other travellers, which was something that I didn’t have the opportunity to do in Pakistan.

The following morning I caught my first train in China and found the whole process a very calm and stress-free experience. Once off the train in Liuyanan, a train station literally in the middle of a desert, I caught a shared minibus into the city of Dunhuang, along a completely straight road from Liuyanan for 2 hours. I wandered around the city for a short while before catching the bus to the desert - the main thing to do here. It was, unsurprisingly, Disney-fied but again I didn’t hate it. It was a lot busier than the previously places I’d visited, but everything was very organised so I didn’t notice too much. I saw the camels and decided that I’d actually quite like to ride one, as they were the prettiest camels I’d ever seen. I slightly regretted my decision about 5 minutes in, when I remembered how uncomfortable they are to ride. It was also funny to ride a camel with so many other people also riding camels. The camel ride ended at the bottom of a huge sand dune and I started climbing up to the top, eyeing up everyone else wearing brightly coloured “sand-free shoe protectors”. At the top, the view over the sand dunes stretching into the distance was crazy. How was this China? Looking back towards the city, there was a strange, fake-looking “crescent spring”, which was a little oasis lake and a temple. Pretty, but very Disney-esque. I watched the sunset and then made my way over to the crescent spring before heading for the exit. Right on time, as a show of sorts had started in front of the dune, and everyone on the dune had light-up sticks. There were even projectors making patterns on the dune. Cool but not my scene. I caught the bus to the night market and couldn’t believe my eyes with all the insane looking food. I settled on some Dunhuang specialties - roll shaped dumplings and something akin to fajitas but with completely different flavours. Both just incredible. For dessert, I had an incredibly refreshing passionfruit jelly pot with bursting bubbles and fruit. Will be keeping my eye out for those!

I returned to the train station the next day, although for an unknown reason the shared car I was in decided to drive off road in the dirt, alongside the lovely straight road, for most of the way. I travelled for a total of 21.5 hours on two trains all the way to Chengdu. The scenery on the first part of the journey was beautiful as it changed from desert to green plains with snowy mountains in the distance. I changed to a sleeper train in Xining and slept surprisingly well. Unlike the sleeper trains in Central Asia and India, the lights were turned off at 11pm and everyone was quiet after this. There was even a little sink area to brush your teeth in each carriage and I admired the chinese women’s skincare regimes. In the morning, I chatted and shared food with two girls from Xinjiang which was lovely. At midday, I arrived in Chengdu.

I spent basically all my time in Pakistan in the northern region called Gilgit-Baltistan, and the majority of it in upper Hunza. This area is populated by people who are ethnically Wakhi, the same people you will find spread across Afghanistan, Tajikistan and Xinjiang in China. They speak Wakhi, live in Pamir houses with a particular design featuring five pillars, a sunken living room, and a pentagon shape in the roof with a window in the centre. Their religion is Ismailis, a sect of Shia muslims that is incredibly liberal. They do not have mosques, the women mostly don’t cover their hair, and women have (almost) the same rights as men. Whilst I also met a lot of Pashtun people, also from Afghanistan, the Wakhi are who I spent most of my time with.

Some general observations about this northern region of Pakistan:

1. People are incredibly friendly and hospitable! I never felt unsafe here.
2. Towns are filled with the following: small shops selling snacks, fresh fruit and veg stands, shops selling light bulbs and electrical wiring, shops selling meat, places serving food and a few shops selling clothing and cloth. There is the occasional pharmacy.
3. People are obsessed not with money, but obtaining a visa or a passport for any other country. With a Pakistani passport, it seems that you cannot travel anywhere easily.
4. It is very common for people to be married to their (first) cousin, and everyone in the valley seems to be somehow related to one another. I asked if people were aware that having children with your first cousin could cause the children to be born with genetic issues, and people agreed that this was a very big problem but that people were only just starting to connect the two things together. One boy told me that all of his uncle’s children had died as babies, due to such genetic issues. Several of the shepherd children I met whilst hiking had notable disformaties too.
5. People often referred to life in the valley pre-9/11 and post-9/11, and it was only after this that I considered the knock-on effect that something so globally publicised would do to country. Pre-9/11, the valley had a thriving tourism industry that was on the up. Filled with hiking enthusiasts and overlanders. Post-9/11 and the killing of Bin Laden in a compound in Pakistan, that tourism industry completely dried up. Ever so slowly, it is being rebuilt, but it was obvious that many people’s livelihoods had been destroyed in the aftermath.

I have really enjoyed my time in Pakistan. The hiking was beautiful and I had so many great experiences with the locals. However, it is a place being ravaged by climate change and corruption. And this leads to huge logistical nightmares. The glaciers are melting faster than usual, and this causes flash floods which destroy the roads. It was so strange going to sleep each night, hoping that the road in the direction I wished to travel would still be there in the morning. Corruption results in the roads not being fixed properly, and also constant power outages. Sometimes for days at a time. This also causes phone service to disappear, leaving you cut off from everything. It was challenging to plan travel, it required constant changes in any plan, and just become quite stressful and exhausting. But this is nothing compared to living with this situation constantly, and I felt such sympathy for the locals and the difficulties they face.

A note on the questions I’m asked every time I meet someone new:

1. Where are you from?
2. First time in Pakistan?
3. Do you have a boyfriend?
4. What is your name?
5. What is your profession?

The food

Honestly, really not my favourite. Maybe because I got sick early on and my stomach was dodgy from that point onwards? But I didn’t love the heavy curries, endless amounts of dry roti, oily omelettes and unspiced chai. The best meals I had were whilst hiking - I loved the vegetable curries that often featured. Otherwise, I definitely wouldn’t recommend Pakistan for the food! At least it was apricot and mango season and those always hit the spot.

Will I ever cross into China?

In a word - nightmare. From protests to damaged roads, it felt like I had to manifest with every fibre of my being for this border to be open. And it still didn’t work. Since the beginning of July, Pakistani traders had been protesting at the border over the Pakistani government introducing high taxes on imports, and this involved them shutting down the immigration office and physically blocking the road. I’d heard rumblings of this as soon as I arrived in Pakistan, but also was aware of tourists being allowed to cross still. I was planning to cross into China on Friday 15th August, the day after Pakistan’s independence day (a national holiday which would see the border closed). However, after checking with the locals in the area (I asked the owner of a homestay in the town close to the border) it seemed that the border would also be close on Friday. I decided to push my border crossing to Monday 18th August, rather than dashing to make it before the 14th. This would give me a few extra days in Pakistan to do another multi-day hike, and I would still have enough time in China to do what I wanted to do there. With this plan decided, I booked my trains in China, all the way from Kashgar in the far west to Chengdu. Trains in China book up almost immediately once they go on sale, which is two weeks before departure, so I was already cutting it fine and had to make do with what was still available. I knew that if I missed these booked trains I was in trouble, as I wouldn’t be able to book new ones (they would certainly be fully booked by then). Also, this act of booking trains was made infinitely more difficult by the lack of wifi or phone service in Pakistan…

Monday 18th rolled around and my stomach was filled with minor dread. All weekend people had been telling me that the border would not open on Monday. This was pure conjecture, but it made me anxious. The owners of the homestay also seemed to hold little hope of it opening. However, they said we would still go to the border to see. So after a typical breakfast of egg, roti and chai, we drove the short distance to the border town of Sost. The bus office was closed, not a promising sign, but another bus office was open. We went here and were met with an unhelpful spiel of “uncertain if border will open today” “maybe it will” “maybe tonight” “maybe not today”. I released the control of the situation and decided to accept that I wouldn’t be crossing, but be optimistic all the same. The knot in my stomach dissolved and I thought about how good it was to practice letting go of things you can’t control. There were some familiar faces in the bus office - the little Uzbek guy I’d met in Yak Grill a few days previously whilst we both waited to see if phone service would appear, and the Belgian couple from the hostel in Ishkoman, right at the start of my time in Pakistan. I shared my working phone service with them, and we laughed at the uncertainty of it all. After 2 hours, we were told that a committee of people was coming from Hunza, a larger town lower down in the valley, to have a discussion with the protestors at 2pm. That only after this would there be news. So we drove back to the homestay, with all our contacts in Sost ready to call us if there was any update.

I might have been able to let go of the stress of seeing if the border would open or not, but I was less good at accepting a day of waiting. I hated feeling like I was wasting a day, especially when on a short trip. But it was raining, so I didn’t feel like going for a walk around the town or hills, and I had already done this the previous day. I wasn’t in the mood to write. So I sat in the traditional Wakhi room for the entire day. The young guy from the hostel was happy to play the selection of games with me, so we played pick-up sticks, dobble and exploding kittens. Another guest arrived, a very interesting 60 year old lady from Palau (had to look it up, it’s a Pacific island), called Katherine. She joined in our game of exploding kittens and we played until we were bored. We chatted a lot, I read my book, I practised some dutch. Katherine told me she once dated a dutch man and it was awful, and then he died of covid. There was no news about the border. Before it got dark, I went for a little walk and thought about my options. If the border opened tomorrow, I would miss my first train but I could take a flight to the next city instead and would be able to catch the subsequent trains. If I couldn’t cross until Thursday or Friday, I would go and explore a different valley for a few days, and would then have to fly all the way to Chengdu, missing out on exploring Xinjiang but with no other option. If I couldn’t cross until next week, or not at all, well that would be very tricky!

I did some yoga and Katherine and I played more cards until it was dinner. The day had moments of joy, sharing funny stories, playing cards, but mostly I felt defeated and lethargic from the waiting. I gave up on my chance of crossing that day and went to sleep, with little hope for the following day.

The next morning I crouched on the porch and watched the mountains. I held no hope about crossing today and felt pretty low. The lady from the homestay came out of her room and excitedly said she had received news that the border would be open today! My mood soared as I rushed to pack my things. We ate breakfast and drove back to Sost, and it become certain that the border would be open. The bus offices were mobilising, and I secured my bus ticket and snacks for the journey. Thank god (or Allah)!

We’re crossing into China!

In a way I’m glad that it was such a painful lead up to the border crossing. Because it meant whenever the actual crossing became tricky, I just thought back to how thankful I was to even be crossing the border. The actual crossing was long, but not too difficult. First, we needed to have our bags searched by the Pakistani immigration office, and then stamped out of the country. We loaded our luggage onto the bus, but then had to walk across the picket line and past the protestors, and another 1km up the road. We cheered when the bus appeared and we loaded on. We drove the final bit of the Karakoram highway through the Khunjerab national park. The road was in a very bad state in sections, but passable. My fellow passengers were all Chinese, except for 7 cyclists from a mix of European countries, all in their 50s. When we reached the national park kiosk, us foreigners were charged 30USD as a park fee, a total rip-off seeing as we wouldn’t be getting off the bus, but one I was expecting. We weaved our way up to 4300m and crossed the border under the communist looking archway. The highest paved road, and the highest international border crossing, in the world. There were Chinese tourists in a fenced area, taking photos of the mountains. A short distance past the archway we went through the first immigration point. I felt the altitude as we got of the bus, the air was cold and thin. Our luggage was scanned and then a man went through every item of my bag, but very pleasantly and he seemed quite excited by most of my items. It wasn’t a particularly thorough check despite this, and he didn’t find my penknife which I’d hidden wrapped inside my raincoat. I was then placed on a little conveyor belt, a first for me, which took me through a scanner - quite funny! Back on the bus we continued the drive on the Chinese side of the national park, with an extra passenger of a Chinese police officer (although he didn’t pay much attention to us and spent most of the journey on facetime to someone). The scenery opened up dramatically, to wide plains bordered by snowy mountains. Gone was the tight valley I’d been in for the last week. I happily spotted herds of yak from the window, lots of marmots, a bright yellow bird, and three camels.

A few things happened immediately after crossing the border - my chinese esim kicked in and I had full 5G, and time jumped forward three hours. The phone service made me tut, angry at the Pakistani military for the monopoly they held over phone service in the north, and the poor service they provided. The time difference made me feel strange, realising that all of China runs on one time zone which suits Beijing, so it doesn’t match up properly in the west.

After a couple of hours we reached our destination - Tashkurgan’s immigration point. Our luggage was first inspected by sniffer dogs, then I had my tongue swabbed and my bag was scanned again. And finally, my passport was stamped with a Chinese entry stamp. I felt a sense of relief - I was in! The visa which had been incredibly painful to get in London was all in order. I left the immigration building and immediately felt lost. Everyone had evaporated and I had no idea where to go next. I wanted to try and get to Kashgar that night, but was aware that it was already 10pm (I had left the homestay in Pakistan at 9am!) and the drive was 5 hours. Eventually, I found some friendly Pakistani guys who were also trying to get to Kashgar and we banded together to find a taxi. And so the much less pleasant part of the journey began, with a taxi driver who may have been the most awful man I’d ever met.

One of the Pakistani guys needed to drop by a hotel briefly (I think to drop off a watch, but unsure), which was next to a restaurant. We hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day so we asked the driver if we could quickly grab some food to takeaway. He said no, that there was not enough time. He then got out of the car and went into the restaurant, returning with two boxes of dumplings, all for himself. I laughed at his behaviour, and eventually, after it was evident we would be waiting a while, one of the Pakistani guys ran in to get us all a tupperware of pilaf with lamb and a samsa (all food I’d had before in Central Asia, which made me quite excited!). The next sign of how awful the driver was came when he rolled down my window (I was sat in the front passenger seat) and picked up his now empty box of dumplings. I could see what he was going to do and watched in horror as he attempted to throw the box out of my window and it caught in the wind and hit my head instead. Again, I couldn’t do anything but laugh at this man’s disgusting behaviour. His driving was terrible and I was scared to sleep, sure that we would crash the moment I closed my eyes. We went through several police check-points, which were without incident, and there were hundreds of fake police cars and police officers, complete with flashing lights, all the way along the road. There was a strange box in my glove department which the driver kept stopping the car to look at. It had a green display but didn’t seem to show anything. I guessed it was some sort of monitoring device. The driver repeatedly said we needed to wait before driving again, to all of our annoyance as the hours dragged on. The worst of these was at 2:30am, when he said we needed to wait for 30 minutes. Confused but tired, we didn’t argue. At 3am we gestured for him to continue driving and he then refused, saying we now needed to wait another 2 hours. We were all incredibly annoyed now, we asked him why he hadn’t mentioned this when picking us up? We pointed at the other taxis driving past us to his claims that no one can drive along the road after 3am. Eventually, he continued driving, making lots of loud noises in disagreement about it. At 4am, we reached Kashgar, and were only 20 minutes from my hostel. I was day dreaming about getting into bed when the driver stopped on the side of the main highway. He refused to drive any further. I pleaded with him to drop me off at my hostel, since it was so close, but he just got out of the car and started unloading our bags. The Pakistani guys and me shook our heads in disbelief, all agreeing that this guy was a very bad man. We all stood on the side of the highway, hoping to find a taxi that would take us to our respective destinations. I was so thankful to not be alone. I saw a taxi and waved it down. The Pakistani guys insisted that I take this first one, and I thanked them all as I gave directions to the new driver. It seemed that the road of the hostel couldn’t be driven down, so I climbed out, paid the driver in cash as my QR code payment was working yet, feeling so thankful I had met some tourists who had come from China earlier in Pakistan and bought their Yen from them. I walked the final 10 minutes down the dark street, praying that the hostel was where it said it was. When I saw the sign and pushed open the door I could’ve cried with relief. It had been an exhausting day, and I collapsed into bed happily.

And so the Pakistani chapter was over, and the Chinese chapter began. Not off to the greatest start, but at least I was in the country at last!

Stats

Cars - 11

Motorbikes - 6

Minibuses - 2

Journeys

1 - Gahkuch to Minapin (4 hours) (07/08/25)

The first car that drove past stopped for me. Despite only going 45 minutes down the road, the two men insisted on driving me the 2 hours to Gilgit (which is where I said I was going, as I knew I could then hitch a second lift from here to Minapin, as it was the start of the Karakoram Highway). Getting in the car, I didn’t feel completely at ease with the two men and so, when they asked if I was alone, I told them no, my boyfriend was waiting for me in Minapin. And when we came across some tourist police, I made sure to roll down my window so that they saw me. The police eyed me and the guys suspiciously, and told me that if I had any problems, to just let them know as there were more police on the route. Then they each took a photo with me. Happy to be heading to Gilgit, I didn’t care too much that we went via a random village where we waited for 30 minutes in the car for one of the guys to do something. As we approached Gilgit, they asked if I was staying there. I said no, I would travel on to Minapin. They asked how far this was, and I said 2 more hours from Gilgit. The driver said he would take me there and, despite my protests that it was too far, he insisted. After the other guy got out in Gilgit, we headed onwards to Minapin. We stopped for momos and pizza for lunch, which he would not let me pay for, and he bought me a sprite and some crisps for the journey. The driver was 25 and didn’t speak great english but with the help of google translate we spoke about religion and the origin of man, and he told me that he had spent 2 years in hospital with blood cancer. We stopped so that some boys could take a photo of us in front of his car (people love their cars here) and he bought a lit cigarette from the boy (who was much too young to be smoking). I kept up my story about my boyfriend waiting for me in Minapin, but I could tell it was going to be a bit tricky to make this man leave once we had arrived at my hostel. With some firm google translating that I had lots to do to prepare for a hike the following morning, he ended up leaving without any fuss. I did receive a declaration of his love via whatsapp a few hours later, but I sensed that was inevitable.

All in all, a great first hitchhiking experience.

2 - Minapin to Ali abad (1 hour) (09/08/25)

I started walking along the dirt road out of Minapin to get to the main Karakoram Highway. When a car drove past, I waved it down and hopped in to the main road. The car was going in the other direction to me, so I said my thanks and waited for a car going the right way. The first one that drove past stopped for me. I saw a child in the back and jumped in. The driver spoke very good english and we chatted away for the 45 minute journey. We needed to make a detour to a different village to drop off the other passenger, and the guy insisted we also have some lunch here, so I could try his favourite dish (beef in a thin sauce). It was okay! He then took me back to Ali abad, even though this was slightly out of his way. I took his number and promised to whatsapp in case I wanted him to drive me to Hopper valley.

I’m learning that whilst I will be picked up immediately, there will usually be a detour involved. And also, that it is best to hitchhike hungry, as I will inevitably be taken out for food on the journey!

I had treated myself to a luxury ecolodge in Ali abad, for the grand total of £23. It was an incredible stay, I had my own little cabin with a fully glass front looking through the trees towards Rakaposhi mountain. I had tea and coffee in the room, and a modern bathroom with toiletries! I spent the afternoon chilling in the room, showering and doing some writing and life admin (including applying for my practising certificate for being a solicitor!). I ventured out and explored the town, taking in the slightly manic main street, book-ended with mountains on either side. I bought dried apricots and hand sanitiser, and peered into a bakery. I returned to the hotel as it got dark and had a real feast - a walnut salad, followed by a local dish called Hoi La Garm (spinach with flatbread pieces, a bit like pasta), washed down with apricot juice and finished off with a brownie and mango ice cream. All for the total price of £8. I slept like a baby in the comfy bed and enjoyed a delicious breakfast of pancakes with cherry jam and cream and french press coffee, with a view of Rakaposhi. I very much enjoyed my slice of luxury in the mountains, and thought about how nice it was to be able to treat myself like that. But it was also with a twinge of sadness - I really enjoyed the comforts of my stay, so much that I worried I was growing out of being an absolute budget traveller.

3 - Ali abad to Karimabad (20 minutes) (10/08/25)

As explained below, I had a few hours to spare which meant I had time to explore the forts of Karimabad. I was picked up by a local guy who looked more British than Pakistani (pale skin and gingery hair). He said he could definitely take me to the Altit Fort, and that he even had a surprise when we got there. The walk from the little car park to the fort was lovely, past a large pool of water where boys swam, and the old open court. After a discussion with the guard and ticket person in the local language, we were let in for free, and the guard bowed repeatedly to the guy. Odd I thought! As we walked through the garden and up to the fort, the surprise was revealed. The guy was part of the royal family of the area, and this was his grandfather’s home. His uncle (the crown prince) had given both forts to the local foundation to be visited by tourists, but his grandparents had both lived there. This meant I was given a VIP tour of the fort for free, and the guide kept apologising to the guy when he mentioned something negative about the royal family’s history, and kept checking certain things with him - all quite amusing! The guide also turned out to be an incredible videographer and photographer, so I had a full photo and video shoot in the fort too. It was great to learn more about the history and culture of the region, something I had only received snippets of so far.

I explored the second fort - Baltit fort (baltit means “upper” and altit “lower” in the local language) - alone. It was larger and perhaps even more impressive than the first, with coloured windows in several rooms. I enjoyed walking down the hill from the fort too, checking out the little shops selling gemstones and carpets. I did some admin, negotiating with a shop keeper to give me some cash in exchange for charging my card (none of the ATMs in the area seemed to work with foreign cards) and then collected my bag from the hitchhike guy. This was a bit odd however, nothing majorly wrong, I just started to get an odd vibe, so I turned down his offer of joining the family on a picnic to Attabad lake and went to grab a mango shake as I waited for my onwards lift.

4 - Karimabad to Ghulkin (45 minutes) (10/08/25)

Not strictly a hitchhike, the owner of the homestay I had contacted to stay at in Ghulkin was driving from Gilgit and so could pick me up. He would be a few hours (in Pakistani time, I knew this meant several hours) so I explored the forts and town of Karimabad whilst I waited. He picked me up from here, with his son, and we made one stop to visit his daughter at a women’s hostel. I had seen a few of these around and it was interesting to see what they actually were. It was a place for girls to live so they could attend school or college in the area, when their families lived a bit further away. I spoke to the girls for a little while, who were all excited to meet someone from England, and even more so when I told them that I was a lawyer. They were between the ages of 14 and 17 I would guess, and although the place seemed a bit odd to me, they seemed happy enough.

Once at the homestay, I read my book high above the building perched on a rock. I looked at the now familiar sight of apricots drying on roofs and the backdrop of rocky mountains. The homestay was also a bit odd and didn’t exude the warmth I had been expecting. I ate dinner with the other guest, an Italian guy who had come overland from Italy and we had very interesting conversations about the places he had visited and the state of Europe. He was planning to cross into China the same day as me (the 15th) so we exchanged numbers so we could cross together. He was travelling to Sost (the border town) the following day to try and find out if the border would be open on the 15th, and promised to feedback to me.

5 - A day of hopping around, ending at Passu (11/08/25)

My record number of hitchhikes in one day: 2 cars, 4 motorbikes, and 2 minibuses. One of the motorbike drivers even offered for me to take his bike when he couldn’t take me all the way to my destination as he had to go to work. Sadly, I don’t know how to drive a motorbike so I had to refuse. I think I would like to learn when back in England though…

I first travelled back down the Karakoram highway to the start of a hike to Baskochi meadows. Then back up to a cafe near Gulmit where I enjoyed an excellent iced latte and made use of finally having some phone service to book my trains in China. I also ate a very gooey and delicious brownie, which powered me through the afternoon. I hitched a lift to Hussaini Suspension bridge, so treacherous they give you a life jacket to wear as you walk across. I’m fairly okay with that sort of thing, and even I was left feeling quite queasy and only made it halfway across before deciding that was enough and turning back. I hitched another lift back to the turning for Gulmit, and then another up the hill before walking the last 15 minutes to the homestay. I picked up my bag and paid for the night, before starting to walk back down to the main road, hitching another lift, and then another one once on the main road to the infamous Yak Grill. Here I enjoyed a Yak Burger and wedges, before walking during sunset through the small town of Passu and to the hotel I would be staying in.

6 - The adventures of Irfan and Meg (12/08/25 - 16/08/25)

Whilst relaxing at the campsite on the Rakaposhi hike, I met and chatted to a kid called Irfan. He was 20 and had impeccable english. I found him quite funny, and he reminded me of my younger brother in a way. We exchanged numbers and I said I would message him when I reached Passu - his village.

Staying true to my word, I messaged him saying I would reach Passu the following day, and would check out his uncle’s cafe which he promised me had proper coffee. Whilst at the cafe, enjoying an excellent iced latte, he appeared. From then on, we hung out constantly, for almost 5 days! We messed around and bickered just as siblings do, and it really was like being with a younger brother for a few days.

He arranged for me to stay at his uncle’s hotel (still a construction site really, but with a lovely room with a great view of the Passu Cones). Another uncle was our guide for our hike to Patundas Meadow, another uncle provided us with a tent, and another uncle ran the cafe with nice coffee. It seemed that every man we met was an uncle!

On the first day, he met me where I was eating breakfast and we decided to go back to the nice cafe to get phone service and to have a coffee. Checking his motorbike, he assured me there was definitely enough fuel to get there. Fast forward 10 minutes to the bike spluttering to a stop on a hill, me getting off to walk and him having to push it. “Don’t worry, it’s all downhill from here so we can just coast the rest of the way.” I looked ahead and could see several more hills and rolled my eyes. Luckily, a kind man on his motorbike stopped and syphoned off some fuel for us. After the cafe, and after Irfan had got some more fuel, we drove to Borith lake. It was a saltwater lake, and not particularly beautiful. It smelt like sulfur, and the area was barren around it. I read my book with my feet in the water until I was too hot and hungry. We went to a little restaurant for lunch (we had traditional chap soro, a flatbread stuffed with meat) and then went on a hunt for some fruit. This took us back towards the cafe with the nice coffee, and we found that the road right next to the cafe had been completely destroyed by a flash flood caused by the glacier melting. It was crazy, the road was completely gone, and one cafe had been completely washed away. We thanked our luck that we were on the right side, and felt bad for all those who weren’t. Over the next few days, I met several groups of people who were left stranded, unable to drive south. We eventually found some mangoes and drove to Irfan’s home. His mum cut up the mangoes for us, and Irfan showed me multiple ways to eat them. He showed me his traditional instrument and played this for me. We played with his dog, an energetic cocker spaniel called Solar Panel (because he was black). We sat in the garden with a view of the Passu Cones as I read my book and Irfan spoke at me. We returned back to the broken road in search of phone service, and had some dumplings for dinner. He dropped me back at his uncle’s hotel, where I was staying, and stayed in the room next to me. We would be off hiking for three days in the morning!

Once back from the hike, I decided to stay in Passu for one more night, so the adventures of Irfan and Meg, a phrase we coined whilst riding on his motorbike, continued for a while longer. I knew that, despite being almost 7 years younger than me, he felt like my protector (mostly because he told me this), which made me chuckle but I decided to let him go on believing it. It reminded me of something similar that my brother had said whilst we travelled together in Istanbul.

On the following day, when I was definitely going to leave and head to the next town, I ran into him as I was about to start hitchhiking. He convinced me to stay for a meal with his family and the friends we had met hiking, saying he would drop me at the next town afterwards. Not taking much persuading, I agreed. We returned to his house and relaxed for a while, I chatted to his father as Irfan and his mum prepared the meal (they didn’t accept my offer to help!). We picked up our friends and enjoyed a delicious meal of chinese style curry with rice, traditional pancakes and fresh mangoes and apricots. Irfan’s father spoke about his time working and living in Kabul, and especially the day that the Taliban took over and he and his colleagues were extracted from the city. It was an afternoon of wonderful company.

On our final motorbike journey (or what we thought was our final one…), Irfan said he would have come with me to China if he could get the visa. I said that would have been nice, and I meant it. We got on very well, only falling out slightly once (when he almost pushed me off a cliff), and I had grown rather fond of his company. We high-fived goodbye and I promised to message him when I came to Pakistan again, and he promised to let me know if he ever came to London. I’d agreed to take him to a goth night if he did, as he had decided he was into goth girls and to try and bring him a goth girl next time I visited.

I suppose one of the reasons it was such a lovely relationship was because there was no hint of any underlying romantic angle. It was a pure friendship. The adventures of Irfan and Meg - another highlight of my time in Pakistan.

7 - Passu to Jamalabad (1 hour) (16/08/25)

After the final meal at Irfan’s, just as it got dark, I climbed onto Irfan’s different motorbike. We drove down the lane and I felt rather unstable on the bike, as we drew close to the main road Irfan turned and said “I don’t think I can take you all the way, the brakes don’t work”. I hastily agreed and said I would hitchhike! We hit the main road and a car immediately drove past, which we flagged down. It was the chefs from the infamous Yak Grill that I had eaten at several times - happy to get in with these men I said a final goodbye to Irfan and we left. We chatted away in the car, which I noted was going very slowly up the hills, until we reached the little lane running up to the village and the homestay. As we hit a slightly more aggressive incline, the car had had enough and cut out. The men laughed and I laughed with them as we climbed out and pushed the car out of the way of the lane. I looked up the dark road and felt nervous at the idea of walking alone to the homestay, even though it was only 20 minutes away. One of the men took my bag and gestured for me to lead the way, they said of course they would accompany me to the homestay! How lovely, and so we all walked up together, admiring the stars. There was, thankfully, life at the homestay and it turned out that the owner was the driver’s uncle (no shock there) and so they stayed for a while to eat and drink (chinese wine!) and I joined in, whilst frantically using the phone service which had appeared to sort the remaining things for China and my Indian visa. The two guys had come to the village for a wedding party, and asked me if I would like to join them. I said I would love that, and so we headed back to the village, along with another guy from the homestay who it later became apparent had only joined so he could walk me back later.

We first visited the groom’s side, and we watched the dancing and ate food with them. I spoke to a man who had caught the first snow leopard in Pakistan, and one guy who was living in New York. We went to sit with the groom, who, similar to a stag do, was with his close friends smoking and drinking brandy and joking around. I sat next to him and was included in the jokes and the rounds of brandy. It was great fun! I was convinced to dance the Pakistani style dance with the children, which felt silly but also fun. We saw where the men were preparing thefood for the following day - several boiled sheep. Then we went over to the bride’s side, and sat and celebrated with her too. Both parties were in the traditional Wakhi rooms. It was so cool to experience! The guy from the homestay walked me back and we again admired the stars. An unexpected but wonderful hitchhike experience!

Overall

Initially, I was definitely apprehensive before each hitchhike. Worried about getting myself into trouble, into a situation I couldn’t control or get out of. However, after the third hitchhike, I realised that the chances of such a situation were very low, and that it was really rather joyful and fun. This was helped by how easy it was, the first car stopped for me every single time bar once (and I think that car was already full). People were kind and seemed very aware of the perspective the outside world has of them, and were very keen to show that this was not the case. They were not, in fact, gun wielding terrorists who frequently committed violence against women. They were kind, hospitable people, desperate for the tourism industry to continue and reach pre 9/11 levels. I had nothing but wonderful hitchhiking experiences, and I do not think this was just me being lucky. I think it genuinely is safe to hitchhike in northern Pakistan!