The 'Eighth World Wonder' route

 The 'Eighth World Wonder' route

A journey of 1,300 kilometers over the Karakoram Highway passes past some of the world's most breathtaking rock faces. It's a road journey of dreams, but few have ever heard of it or how it came to be.

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I drove by craggy mountain scenery, and the vehicle window let in crisp mountain air. Abrupt summer weather notwithstanding, enormous volumes of snowfall still clung to the 7,000-meter heights. Through Pakistan's high-altitude Hunza Valley, dubbed "Shangri La" by British author James Hilton, glacial waterfalls cascaded down to feed the turquoise river below.

I was traveling down the Karakoram Highway (KKH), which passes through some of the world's most amazing rock faces. Many people refer to it as the "Eighth Wonder of the World"; it's a fantasy road trip, but not many people are aware of its existence.

The KKH had its roots laid centuries ago by the people who lived there; it was formerly a part of the Silk Road. But it wasn't until 1978, after over 20 years of building by over 24,000 Chinese and Pakistani laborers, that it was formally opened to automobiles. This allowed for easier travel, commerce, and tourism in this far-flung region of the globe.

The 1,300 km highway travels via Khunjerab, the world's highest paved border crossing at around 4,700 meters, from the little city of Hasan Abdal, close to Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan, to Kashgar, in the autonomous province of Xinjiang, China. However, I was particularly attracted to the 194 km section of the route that passes through the Hunza Valley, which is encircled by the Karakoram Mountains, which are the reason for the highway's name. From the luxury of your ride, you can witness snow-capped peaks, Alpine lakes, and immaculate glaciers in this breathtaking region. But as fascinating as the trip is, what really makes this stretch of the highway unique are the amazing people and their customs in the Hunza Valley.

Tucked away in the Gilgit Baltistan region, halfway between Xinjiang and the Wakhan Corridor of Afghanistan, Hunza's challenging topography kept it mostly isolated from the outside world until the 20th century. The isolated area, which is mostly inhabited by the Burusho and Wakhi people, has unique languages, music, and cultures unmatched by anything found in Pakistan or the rest of the globe.

Although the KKH has made the valley more accessible, it has also had a detrimental effect on the delicate ecosystem in the area and forced many people to abandon their customs. The number of people who still celebrate long-standing holidays like Ginani, which marks the arrival of spring, and who still don the traditional embroidered robes of the area has decreased.

Nonetheless, a few residents are making a lot of effort to maintain the distinctive customs of the Hunza Valley.

My road journey began with a visit in Altit, a community known for its 1,100-year-old fort and dedication to maintaining its cultural heritage. Here, seeing the distant snow-capped giants of Rakaposhi (7,788m) and Diran (7,266m), I met musician Mujib Ruzik at a café. The Leif Larsen Music Center, a school dedicated to passing on the valley's traditional music to the next generation, was only a short distance away.

Because music was connected to every part of life—for example, singing traditional folk songs while cultivating or harvesting wheat—we were reliant on it, according to Ruzik. However, the youth are unaware of it. However, now that we're including them in musical activities, [they're] discovering the true nature of culture."

Although Ruzik said that the music center was founded in 2016, Zia Ul Karim's instruction of the pupils was really the catalyst for the center's inception. Folk music was traditionally listened to as a pastime, but Ul Karim, an altitean by birth, was among the first to study musicology professionally and was a multi-instrumentalist. Before his untimely death in a motorbike accident in 2022, he had taught over 100 pupils of all ages and skill levels.

Ruzik showed me around the practice area, which was modeled like a neighborhood house. About a dozen pupils were crammed into the space, with diros (pillows) serving as seats and dusheks (seating cushions) along four walls. Despite the extreme patriarchy of Pakistan, Hunza is regarded as the most liberal portion of the nation, partly because of the strong presence of Ismailism, a moderate branch of Islam that supports women's rights and tolerance. Girls are encouraged to pursue education and athletics, and many go on to complete their higher education. Many young girls were sitting among the group with excitement, clutching their wooden rubabs that resembled lutes, thanks to the inclusive learning environment that has been developed here.

Three students then performed a demonstration of hareep music, which is the word used locally for traditional Hunza melodies. They did this by playing three instruments: a long, thin sitar; a large, hand-held drum with red and green stripes on it; and a stringed rubab. The air was filled with soothing melodies, and I couldn't help but feel happy that Central Hunza's folk music would continue to be popular for some time to come.

Once I left Old Altit's cobblestoned alleys behind, I took the KKH back toward Upper Hunza, or Gojal as it's popularly called, which is perhaps the area's most well-known area.

Gojalis speak Wakhi, which is unrelated to Burushaski, and are said to have moved from the nearby Wakhan Corridor hundreds of years ago, while having a similar culture to Central Hunza. Travel between the two Hunza areas took days prior to the highway's opening. It was now just an hour until the visually arresting blue-hued Attabad Lake welcomed me to the area.

Despite its seeming naturalness, Attabad Lake is man-made and the result of tragedy. A huge landslide that occurred on January 4, 2010, destroyed several communities and stopped the Hunza River's flow, resulting in the creation of an artificial lake. The lake, which was named after a village that was destroyed by a landslide, is now surrounded by opulent hotels. It appears to be the epitome of Hunza's modernization, as does the KKH's most recent improvement to ease of travel: a series of five "China-Pakistan Friendship Tunnels," which were finished in 2015 and appear to belong in a busy metropolis rather than one of the most remote areas of the world.

But after a few more kilometers on the same route, I came into the female-owned Bozlanj Cafe, which was exactly the type of neighborhood diner I had been longing for. Although Pakistani food is known for its abundance of spices, traditional Hunza cuisine uses just mint leaves as a spice, and specialties often include yak meat and apricot oil. I ordered the ghilmindi, a sandwich consisting of two thin flatbreads loaded with local yoghurt and almonds, and mool, a sort of cheese prepared in the area with milk, sugar, and an apple-vinegar blend.

Prior to establishing the restaurant in 2016, owners Malika Sultana and Rashida Begum informed me that they began by preparing regional cuisine that they had learnt from their moms and grandparents. It was formerly hidden away in their hometown of Gulmit, but it's now located along a striking KKH curve.

"Cultural meal preparation was nearly complete. because our children were unable to survive. Nobody was succeeding. As I drank my bozlanj tea, named after the local wildflower, Sultana informed me, "And then we started, and now other women have joined us and people are coming out to eat."

I quickly discovered that Gulmit in particular, in Gojal, is a centre for female business. While Hunza Valley women operate restaurants, businesses, and even work as carpenters, Pakistani women make about 20% of the country's total labor force, one of the lowest ratios in the world. However, there's another example only a short drive from Sultana and Begum's restaurant, where I first saw the cathedral-shaped peaks known as the Passu Cones: Korgah, a 400-year-old house turned carpet business managed entirely by women.

Five women were sitting and working in a cozy room filled with several pictures and international medals hanging amid well woven carpets when I walked in.

"We began in 1998 when thirty local women were trained by KADO (Karakoram Area Development Organization)," said Shamim Bano, the village's current manager and a native son. She participated in that first training program and has subsequently collaborated with hundreds of other Gulmit and surrounding area women. The fact that the factory is now a well-liked tourist destination along the KKH means that the Korgah women are able to maintain the dying craft of carpet weaving in addition to providing for their family.

"In Wakhi, our traditional carpets woven of goat or yak hair are called sharma or plos. Bano paused work on a design that depicted an ibex, a species of mountain goat, to explain that this was part of their culture for generations, long before the training.

After traveling back to Central Hunza for almost an hour, the Passu Cones disappeared from sight. Sheep and cows strolled by the road, and I saw elderly people wearing girans—thatched wooden baskets used for centuries—as they carried sheaths of grass on their backs. This is just one more example of traditional Hunza life that has persevered despite modernization.

Even while the Karakoram Highway has stunning architecture, it would be meaningless without the people and culture of Hunza. I remembered something Ruzik had said earlier: "The hope is that we've safeguarded this [culture] for 60 years or more." This idea crossed my mind as I coasted back into the ultra-modern tunnels.

I thought about the many cultural guardians I had encountered in Hunza Valley, from singers to chefs and craftspeople, as I coasted back into the ultra-modern tunnels. I really hope that next travelers will have the opportunity to interact with them and discover what makes the Karakoram Highway so unique.