31May One aspect of being in a Muslim country is that there is no women visible on the street or anywhere we get invited for that matter. The few that we see cover their face with their scarf as soon as men arrive or if adhering to the stricter Sunni group they wear the full burka. The streets are full of men and for us there is definitely something missing. We are amazed by the kindness of this people. Where ever we are people go out of their way to help us. We get invited for cups of thee and people on the streets greet and shake your hand. We may get charged a higher rate for certain food or services but there is non of the money oriented aggression that prevails in many other countries. I really have to pinch myself sometimes to check if I’m not dreaming. If only life at home could be so pleasant.
Today we have set ourselves the task to try and fly around Trichmir, the big mountain that dominates the valley towards the north. The weather is again perfect and all three of us are able to get to 5500 meter before we cross the valley onto the foot hills of this 7700 meter giant. About an hour into the flight we lose contact with each other. Some high clouds move in from the south-west and the top of the mountain disappears. We are all flying with our bivi gear so that we can camp out if necessary. I fly along the south face of Trichmir and fly across some spectacular glacier landscape on a easterly heading to end up in Booni, another Para Gliding base camp. The sky looks threatening towards the west and I decide against camping out. Again the unbelievable kindness of the people blows me away. I land on a soccer field and one of the young boys there takes charge of the situation. He makes contact with the local pilots and organizes a ride into the village for me. Once at his house he produces a huge dish with mulberries, which are in season at the moment and we talk about al kinds of things till one of the local pilots shows up to take me to a place to spent the night. I get fed and we talk paragliding and politics till after dark. The scene is paradisiacal, the stars are out, the honey suckle is spreading its strong fragrance trough the garden, the frogs are croaking and there is the noise of water running through the irrigation channels. I sit in the dark in this walled garden for quiet some time before going to bed and feel totally at peace.
June 1 .In the morning at seven I get woken up for breakfast. Muzafara runs a school and needs to go but I can stay as I wish. The sky is totally bleu apart from a few early thermal clouds. For a moment I regret not having landed in the mountains to be able to fly back to chitral today but then I wouldn’t have had the encounter with these nice people. Plenty of time for flying. The bus ride back is spectacular. The landscape is barren but for the places were people have diverted the water to irrigate the land. Channels, kilometres long, have been carved out and build on the mountainsides to bring the water to the fields. They have clearly been doing this for centuries as the villages and orchards are full of big trees. Higher up in the valley the fields are still green with growing wheat and barley but on the decent back to Chitral the grains are riper and the fields look like a patchwork of greens and yellows. Outside the alluvial fans that are used for irrigation the land is rocky and under constant attack of the elements. The erosion is visible everywhere and the river is running black with silt.
I come back to the hotel around lunch time to find Grey already there. He has had an adventure of his own, landing in some mountain village and staying with a local family. He caught a jeep ride back to the hotel. Mukrim arrives back later in the afternoon, having flown to Booni. He top landed on the local paragliding launch site and camped out but decided to fly down in the morning and catch the bus back to the hotel as he run out of battery power on his GPS.
June 2. A big cyclone in the Bay of Bengal is playing havoc with the weather and it looks like we are in for a few non flyable days. We need a day anyway to do some domestic chores, do some Emailing and enjoy walking through the town and soak up the local pace of life.
June 3. Grey is having a craving for toast and jam. The local breakfast of fried egg and chapatti is not agreeing with him. He has a point, as the eggs are swimming in cooking fat. We pay a visit to the one luxury hotel in town and sit at a table, eat with knife and fork and sip black thee from an almost un chipped cup. The place has 45 rooms and is almost empty. White toast, scrambled eggs, butter and jam and black thee for 2.5 $US doesn’t break the bank and gives our stomach a break in the morning. As the day doesn’t look flyable we organise ourselves a excursion to a valley about 40 km from chitral where the non Muslim tribe of the Kalash people live. Much of their culture is being preserved in the newly build community centre with museum, medical centre and school. The local building stile hasn’t been replaced by concrete yet and the place looks rather idyllic. I guess the biggest attraction are the women, as they dress in very colourful costumes and don’t hide behind scarves or burkas. Our visit was a bid to short to get a good look around but we had to take the last taxi back otherwise Grey would have ended up sleeping with one of these girls.
Today we have set ourselves the task to try and fly around Trichmir, the big mountain that dominates the valley towards the north. The weather is again perfect and all three of us are able to get to 5500 meter before we cross the valley onto the foot hills of this 7700 meter giant. About an hour into the flight we lose contact with each other. Some high clouds move in from the south-west and the top of the mountain disappears. We are all flying with our bivi gear so that we can camp out if necessary. I fly along the south face of Trichmir and fly across some spectacular glacier landscape on a easterly heading to end up in Booni, another Para Gliding base camp. The sky looks threatening towards the west and I decide against camping out. Again the unbelievable kindness of the people blows me away. I land on a soccer field and one of the young boys there takes charge of the situation. He makes contact with the local pilots and organizes a ride into the village for me. Once at his house he produces a huge dish with mulberries, which are in season at the moment and we talk about al kinds of things till one of the local pilots shows up to take me to a place to spent the night. I get fed and we talk paragliding and politics till after dark. The scene is paradisiacal, the stars are out, the honey suckle is spreading its strong fragrance trough the garden, the frogs are croaking and there is the noise of water running through the irrigation channels. I sit in the dark in this walled garden for quiet some time before going to bed and feel totally at peace.
June 1 .In the morning at seven I get woken up for breakfast. Muzafara runs a school and needs to go but I can stay as I wish. The sky is totally bleu apart from a few early thermal clouds. For a moment I regret not having landed in the mountains to be able to fly back to chitral today but then I wouldn’t have had the encounter with these nice people. Plenty of time for flying. The bus ride back is spectacular. The landscape is barren but for the places were people have diverted the water to irrigate the land. Channels, kilometres long, have been carved out and build on the mountainsides to bring the water to the fields. They have clearly been doing this for centuries as the villages and orchards are full of big trees. Higher up in the valley the fields are still green with growing wheat and barley but on the decent back to Chitral the grains are riper and the fields look like a patchwork of greens and yellows. Outside the alluvial fans that are used for irrigation the land is rocky and under constant attack of the elements. The erosion is visible everywhere and the river is running black with silt.
I come back to the hotel around lunch time to find Grey already there. He has had an adventure of his own, landing in some mountain village and staying with a local family. He caught a jeep ride back to the hotel. Mukrim arrives back later in the afternoon, having flown to Booni. He top landed on the local paragliding launch site and camped out but decided to fly down in the morning and catch the bus back to the hotel as he run out of battery power on his GPS.
June 2. A big cyclone in the Bay of Bengal is playing havoc with the weather and it looks like we are in for a few non flyable days. We need a day anyway to do some domestic chores, do some Emailing and enjoy walking through the town and soak up the local pace of life.
June 3. Grey is having a craving for toast and jam. The local breakfast of fried egg and chapatti is not agreeing with him. He has a point, as the eggs are swimming in cooking fat. We pay a visit to the one luxury hotel in town and sit at a table, eat with knife and fork and sip black thee from an almost un chipped cup. The place has 45 rooms and is almost empty. White toast, scrambled eggs, butter and jam and black thee for 2.5 $US doesn’t break the bank and gives our stomach a break in the morning. As the day doesn’t look flyable we organise ourselves a excursion to a valley about 40 km from chitral where the non Muslim tribe of the Kalash people live. Much of their culture is being preserved in the newly build community centre with museum, medical centre and school. The local building stile hasn’t been replaced by concrete yet and the place looks rather idyllic. I guess the biggest attraction are the women, as they dress in very colourful costumes and don’t hide behind scarves or burkas. Our visit was a bid to short to get a good look around but we had to take the last taxi back otherwise Grey would have ended up sleeping with one of these girls.
